Facing the Future
by sydneysages
Summary: Connie Beauchamp's life is busy enough. But with rediscovered romance in the air and Henrik Hanssen increasing her responsibilities, how will she - and the department - cope? Elsewhere, Dylan's considering his role, and Elle's questioning her future. /Ensemble fic, Strachamp and DylanOC main pairings. Main characters include: Connie, Sam, Henrik, Dylan, Grace, Elle.
1. Beginnings

Hi everyone! Welcome to Chapter One of my new Casualty Multichapter WIP - well, I say new, it's actually my first MC for the fandom.

Basic information about the structure of the fic. It **is** a Strachamp fic, and their relationship will be an important part of the fic,as well as their character development. Sometimes it might seem as if they're regressing, but that's planned. **But** it doesn't shy away from the fact that this fic is set in a hospital. This means that other characters feature quite prominently - some chapters, they're more prominent than Strachamp.

It's essentially an ensemble cast within the fic, much as the show is. The main characters are probably: Connie, Sam, Henrik, Dylan, Ethan, Grace, Elle in that order, though there will obviously be other characters as well!

I'd really appreciate any and all feedback that you have for me on this adventure, and though I've got a plan for the fic, I've definitely got some room for flexibility if there's something you'd really like to see. Just leave a review and let me know :)

* * *

Chapter One:

There's just something about Sam Strachan that leaves her wanting more.

He's the most irritating man in her life – he's arrogant and rude, disrespectful and stubborn – and yet he's also the most interesting. He's the one who keeps her coming back for more, because she can never figure him out. They've known each other for twelve years, and she's not sure if she could imagine life without him. For no matter how much they argue, no matter how much they claim to hate each other, they _need_ each other.

It's just that neither of them have been willing to be vulnerable enough to admit it to the other.

It's been a constant cycle of love and irritation, flirting and cross words, ever since she told him that she was pregnant with his child – and from even before that, when their relationship was purely professional.

All this has led to an almost identical situation to the locker room on Darwin down here, in the ED's spare store cupboard, except with the roles reversed. _This_ time, he's the one who takes the initiative. This time, _he's_ the one making it clear that he wants her.

He kisses her, and Connie can't stop herself from kissing him back, until she comes to her senses. No matter how much she wants this, it's almost certainly going to cause both of them heartache, as they're not willing to be open with one another.

But then he kisses her again, and she can't deny that she wants it a second time. Medical supplies fall on the floor as he lifts her against the racking effortlessly, and Connie zones out from anything other than Sam Strachan, and the way he makes her feel. The future can wait. This moment can't.

"Sam," she whispers his name against his lips, longing in her voice. For the first time in a _long_ time, when she says his name, it isn't with malice or scorn, disappointment or anger. It isn't to try and get him out of her life – it's to keep him in it. "Sam." She says it again, because it's strange and beautiful and new to Connie Beauchamp, Clinical Lead of the Emergency Department.

It's something that she wishes would never end.

* * *

It could be minutes or it could be hours later, but finally they break apart long enough for them to stop breathing heavily. Connie looks into Sam's eyes and sees none of the anger from before – instead, she sees hopefulness. Strange, for Sam Strachan is never hopeful with her around.

She breaks eye contact to look at her watch and is immediately panicked; for no matter how much she wants to stay in this delightfully small storage cupboard, she has other places to be.

"What is it?" Sam asks, his tone a strange combination of hopeful and irritated. "Realised there's somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Connie shakes her head, biting her lip at the same time. "I have a meeting with Hanssen – it's urgent, apparently. And it's in five minutes."

"Just stay," Sam croons, pressing his lips to her neck, a sudden change from seconds before.

"You know I can't," Connie replies, pushing Sam's head away from her neck. When they make eye contact again, she sees rejection and the return of the steely expression she knows so well. "Hanssen would just send a search party for me. He's probably tracking the GPS on my phone as we speak."

"Fine," Sam says, lifting his hands up and taking a few steps back. "You go ahead and sort out your career, Connie."

It's only because she's so happy – and so fearful of what might happen next – that she doesn't get angry.

"Sam," she says again, not quite desperate and not quite angry and not quite anything. "I _have_ to go. But I'll be back soon, and I don't want to…ignore this." She doesn't quite know what to say, how to phrase anything, and that's strange for Connie Beauchamp. Yet that's always the reaction Sam's had on her.

He hesitates, opening his mouth to speak before closing it and nodding. "Good," he replies, "neither do I. I'll see you later."

Squeezing past her, Sam walks to the door and opens it, stepping out. "The coast is clear," he adds, popping his head back in. He's grinning again and, once again, Connie is completely amazed at how fast Sam's emotions manage to change. "By the way, your hair looks like you've been in a tornado. Might want to fix that on your way upstairs."

Connie rolls her eyes, but can't help but smile. He's ridiculous and he's arrogant, but he's Sam Strachan – and she's certain that he's the man for her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Connie arrives on the seventh floor and walks towards Hanssen's office, shoes clicking along the way. She's not managed to find any focus for this meeting on the journey, and all she can think about is Sam. Hanssen could probably tell her that he's cutting her wages by fifty percent, and she wouldn't protest.

Still, as she knocks on the door, she pinches herself to try and bring back the traditional Connie Beauchamp. The Connie Beauchamp who told Henrik Hanssen that he was a giant Swede, and the worst thing to happen to the NHS. She's a hellbeast – she can get Sam Strachan out of her head for half a bloody hour.

"Enter," Hanssen calls, and Connie enters his office. He's smirking a little as she enters, and paranoia makes her immediately question whether he knows where she's spent the last half an hour. "Ah, Mrs Beauchamp, I had began to worry that you'd forgotten your way, spending all of your time on the ground floor."

"Apologies for the delay – I had urgent matters to attend to," Connie lies fluently, shutting the door behind her and walking across to one of Hanssen's guest seats. She crosses her legs, right over left, and leans forwards slightly.

Hanssen's smirk turns into a smile and he nods. "Yes, I understand that we had a wedding in our Emergency Department today – and that you were one of the key witnesses," he replies. "Always pleasant, is it not, attending a wedding."

"I imagine it's a lot more fun when you know the people getting married," Connie replies drily. Despite their past differences, she has to admit that Hanssen's one of her favourite people. Now that they're not sharing a job – and he's not trying to make her fire her best friend – she can appreciate his funny side.

"I imagine so," Hanssen says. "Tea?"

"Coffee," Connie counters. "White, no sugar. Extra coffee granules."

"You are as demanding as ever, Mrs Beauchamp," Hanssen murmurs, but picks up his phone and telephones through the drinks request to his assistant. "Now, how are you this fine day? Still missing the glory days of replacing aortas and successfully transplanting a heart in the middle of a storm with no electricity?"

Connie rolls her eyes, forcing herself to count to five before she replies. It wouldn't do to be _too_ rude to Hanssen. "Henrik, what's the point of this meeting? As I _do_ have a lot of work to be getting on with."

"All will become clear in good time, Connie," Henrik replies cheerfully. "Ah, look, Duncan has prepared the drinks already – thank you very much, Duncan."

As soon as the door has closed and Connie has taken a rather large sip of her drink, she focuses her attention on Hanssen again, fixing him with her sternest expression.

"Henrik, you're not planning on playing any more games in my department are you?" She asks, noting his expression turn a little mischievous. "As you've already hired _two_ members of staff without consulting me – and one of them is the former Medical Director, who's taken a job two grades below his training, with _no_ formal emergency medical training. I _do_ hope that this isn't becoming a pattern."

"On this account, Connie, I'm afraid to say that you could not be more wrong – regarding your _staff_ anyway," Hanssen says, and Connie's heart sinks. She hadn't thought about fighting for _herself_ ; after all, she thought that causing the Medical Director to rethink his proposed cuts would have quashed all thoughts of making her redundant.

"Henrik, what do you mean?" Connie has to ask, each word hurting her to say. Normally, she'd fix the other person with a look, indicating that she wouldn't ask what they had to say, but that doesn't work with Hanssen. They're too equally matched.

"I mean that the current staffing level will remain in the ED – it didn't need to change anyway, Mr Strachan just wanted to throw his weight around, though I would appreciate it if you didn't share that particular opinion," Hanssen says, enunciating each word clearly, in a manner similar to Connie. "However, I want _you_ to move. Not permanently – and not totally. But I want you back in Darwin, Connie."

She's shocked. More than shocked, actually, she's confused, because she could have sworn that the last time Hanssen (or Guy) asked her to move back to Darwin, she made her feelings very clear on the matter. In the future, yes, but not now.

Her expression becomes irritated, and her jaw sets for a moment in annoyed disbelief before she replies. "Henrik, I have made my thoughts on the matter _very_ clear on the five other occasions you have asked me if I want to move back to Darwin. The answer is, as it was then, no. Not until patient care is _outstanding_ am I willing to consider changing back to cardiothoracics."

Hanssen smiles, almost smirks really, and takes another sip of his tea. "I'm well aware of that, Connie. Which is why I'm not asking you to permanently – or even completely – move up to Darwin. I just want you working between the departments. I think you'll find that I _did_ say that."

She has to admit that he did say that he didn't want her to leave the ED permanently, but that barely influences her irritation. Why now?

"Take Mr Strachan," she finds herself saying, grasping for a solution. Whilst she wants to work with him a lot more than she would admit, if they don't resolve the question of "what are they", it'll just be a rerun of the previous battle they fought, again and again. "He's perfectly qualified, I believe."

Henrik's eyebrows raise slightly for a moment, apparently surprised at her solution, but he shakes his head. "I don't want a consultant up there, I've got two of them already," he explains. "I want _you_."

"Henrik, get to the point, or I'll be walking out of that door," Connie snaps, fed up with the word games. "What is going on and why do you suddenly want me working in Darwin?"

Infuriatingly slowly, Henrik takes a few sips of his tea before he sets it down and leans forwards, pressing his long fingers together underneath his chin.

"Connie, you are well aware that you are the most qualified cardiothoracic consultant in this hospital – I don't need to remind you of that – despite your insistence on remaining in the Emergency Department," Henrik begins. "Whilst Ms Naylor is an excellent consultant, she lacks a little…diplomacy, shall we say. She hasn't quite figured out how to combine leadership with being a surgeon – something that, I'm sure you would admit, you also struggled with at times.

"Now, Guy Self is seeking to expand his neuro department again, at the threat to the cardiothoracic ward. I cannot say that I am the _most_ interested in cardiothoracics, but I am sure that you of all people understand the importance of having a cardio unit which is a Centre of Excellence."

Connie begins to understand why exactly she's needed: it was her own hard work which gained Holby City Hospital a Centre of Excellence up on Darwin, and it's going to be her involvement which allows them to maintain it. Plus, she's a formidable character – Guy facing Jac _and_ Connie might make him reconsider. However, she doesn't speak; she waits for Henrik to speak.

He caves, and continues. "Ms Naylor is amiable to the idea, though she would like it stressing that _she_ remains Clinical Lead for Darwin, and believes that having someone of your…standing on board may make it a little easier to keep the status quo. _I_ feel that having you up on Darwin when the inspection team come will make it easier to maintain our status."

Connie smiles slightly and narrows her eyes, tilting her head slightly. "But Henrik, it's been so long since I've practiced," she replies, feigning a little ignorance. "Just _how_ will I cope?"

Henrik returns her mock naïve look. "You know as well as I do that you're as competent as ever, Connie – after all, why else would you demand that the hospital maintains your surgery insurance?" He has her here, she has to admit. "Plus, the IT system has come a _long_ way since your days on Darwin. Did you know that we can actually track how many times a journal is opened through our membership? And did you also know that you read and download more cardiothoracic articles than any member of the actual cardiothoracic team? If _you_ don't know the most up to date information, what chance does the rest of them have?"

She purses her lips, pretending to consider the offer. In all honesty, it's something that's more than a little enticing. She still gets to maintain her control of the ED, and yet has the opportunity to practice the discipline she actively chose when she entered medicine – and still actively chooses, whenever possible. The only issue is timing…

"I won't be working ridiculous hours, Henrik," Connie says sharply. "One or two days here and there, I don't mind, but I do have a life outside of this hospital. Weekends off, no ridiculous shifts, and if the ED struggles without my presence, you hire a locum to lift some of the strain."

Henrik meets her gaze. "Mrs Beauchamp, this is not a negotiation."

"Mr Hanssen, it most _certainly_ is."

There's a minute of a silence with both of them staring at the other, waiting for the other to break. Connie's smirking a little, well aware of the fact that she will _not_ cave, and well aware of the fact that the ball is almost entirely in her court.

Henrik finally caves. "Very well. No weekends or ridiculously long shifts, and I will ensure that the ED is…adequately staffed in your absences," he agrees, sitting back in his chair. "However, I do insist that you put all of your effort into resolving things on Darwin. Otherwise, I fear that your pride and joy will disappear from Holby City Hospital within the next decade."

Connie smiles a little wider, and nods. "I'll start Monday. Tell Jac that I'll meet her at 9am on Monday morning – _after_ her ward rounds, of course. Goodbye, Henrik."

She doesn't wait for a reply or comment on the fact that she's treating the Chief Executive as a secretary, simply walks out of the office, heels clacking the whole way.

* * *

Downstairs in the ED, everything's rather calm; there's not been any large scale major incidents today, giving the staff a little breathing space in the run up to one of the busiest times of the year.

However, in cubicles, things are a little _less_ peaceful. For one doctor in particular: Dylan Keogh.

"Right, can we have a bit of quiet please," Dylan says to his patient, who seems incapable of ending the conversation on his mobile phone. "This is an emergency department and you're clearly here for a reason, so can we end the conversation until _after_ I've examined you."

The patient, a teenage boy with a poor sense of fashion in Dylan's opinion, sneers as he ignores Dylan, evidently preferring to chat to the anonymous person on the phone.

Dylan stands, hands on hips, staring at the boy intently for a number of seconds.

" _Now_ ," Dylan adds, his voice a little sharper. "I do have other patients to see. You're not the centre of everyone's attention."

The boy looks at him again. "Yeah, Laura, I'll call you back. Bloody doctor's infringing on my human rights and demanding I put my phone away. Don't see why he can't just read the form. Love you too, bye."

Dylan can tell that the boy's comments to Laura – whoever Laura is, he doesn't know and he doesn't care – were actually intended for him. Not that he particularly cares or not. As far as he can tell, this boy's airway is clear, he doesn't appear to be in any obvious signs of discomfort, and he hasn't demanded an immediate supply of pain relief, so it's unlikely that he's an addict.

"Right, thank you, Mr…" Dylan continues, a little sarcastically, taking a look at the patient name board to the right of the bed. "Ah, Mr Anonymous. Any particular reason that you don't want us to know your name, or did you just decide that telling a receptionist was a little too _basic_?"

The boy glares at Dylan. "You can't speak to me like that. And I don't have to give you my name, do I?"

"I need your name so that I can get your medical records," Dylan explains. "So how about we get the name first, and then you tell me why you're here…"

The nurse assigned to Mr Anonymous appears – Louise. "Sorry, I got caught up with Mrs Matthews," she explains.

Dylan nods, not particularly bothered at her absence – he also doesn't particularly care about her explanation. "Perhaps you'd be better at getting a name from our patient here. He's unwilling to share it."

Louise steps forward, but the boy continues to look defiantly at Dylan. "Look, we really do need your name," she says, trying the gentle approach. "If you've got any allergies or any previous complications in your treatment, it could really affect you now. And, if you're over sixteen, we don't need to contact your parents if you don't want us to."

Dylan rolls his eyes. The overly sympathetic approach definitely isn't his style, though sometimes it yields results. Like today, apparently.

"Fine," the boy says, turning away from Dylan and towards Louise. "It's Sean. Sean Taylor. I'm seventeen, so you don't need to call my dad."

"Ah, progress!" Dylan contributes sarcastically. "And whilst we're on a sharing spree, can you tell me why you're in my cubicle?"

Still looking at Louise, Sean replies. "It's my ankle. I think I hurt it the other day, and figured I should come in."

Dylan just about manages to bite his tongue, resisting berating the boy for wasting the department's time rather than going to the Minor Injuries Unit. It'd be too easy to do that, but there could be something wrong – if there's one thing that Holby has taught him, it's that sometimes, he needs to believe the patient. That's probably not the case with Sean Taylor, but that won't be clear until he's ordered an x-ray.

"Right, well, an x-ray please, Louise," Dylan says, walking around to the end of the bed to take a look at the clipboard. "And can you fill in the registration paperwork, now that Mr Taylor has decided to give us his name." Turning his attention back to Sean, he adds, "pain anywhere else? Strange feelings, inability to give up your mobile, chest issues?"

"I don't think you should be speaking to me like that," Sean says, ignoring Dylan's questions. His tone is arrogant and cocky: he plays football, Dylan decides on the spur of the moment. "And no, I don't have any of those – I'm not _old_."

"Just the x-ray then. Let Nurse Tyler know if you develop any other symptoms – and don't play on your phone."

Dylan walks out, wondering why on earth he decided on a profession which involves working with _people_.

.

A short time later, Sean's results come back and, unsurprisingly to Dylan, they're clear. There's not even a sign of a sprain when he returns to examine the foot – it looks as if the kid's here purely to annoy him.

"I'm sorry, but why exactly have you wasted my time coming in here?" Dylan says sharply, after telling Sean that there's nothing wrong with his foot. "There are other patients – patients who actually have something wrong with them – and you've just wasted my time."

"You can't talk to me like that!" Sean replies.

"You're sounding like a broken record," Dylan counters, rolling his eyes. "I don't know why you bothered to come in today. Just get out." He doesn't see the point in staying, so walks towards the curtain, pulling it open, already thinking of the next patient.

"You're going to get in _so_ much trouble for that," Sean calls after Dylan, causing Dylan to stop.

He turns back to face Sean, hands on his hips again, his expression bored. "And why, exactly, is that?"

"Because my dad's a medical inspector or something for hospitals – and I'm going to tell him _exactly_ how shit a doctor you are!"

* * *

As the lift doors close, Connie stands in the centre, a rather large smile on her face. She can't resist – it's pretty much everything she could hope for. She gets to spend time in her specialised department, essentially picking and choosing what she wants to do, and then spend a couple of days a week in her actual department. More than that, she can actually spend time with Grace, whenever she makes enough of a breakthrough with her that her daughter actually wants her mum around. There's going to be no stressing over whether or not she can make it to an appointment: she'll be able to get to almost anything, within reason.

And there's the obvious benefit of the situation, for whatever happens between her and Sam. She's extremely anxious for her return to her department, for when she gets there, she _has_ to speak to Sam. Whilst the meeting with Hanssen was an annoying interruption at the time, now she's glad that it happened – for it gives her a little time to think: just what _does_ she want?

Whenever she's with Sam, she wants to be with him, no matter how annoying he's being or how insubordinate he's acting. But when she takes a couple of steps back, she questions whether it's what's best for them. Sure, she wants it…but are they willing to put the work in to make them a good couple outside of the workplace?

For the first time, Connie thinks that _she_ , at least, is willing. She's taking a small step back from work – albeit for a few weeks, or however long this partnership with Darwin lasts – and that means she can spend more time with Sam and Grace, figuring out exactly what they are. But can she do this to Grace? _Should_ she do this to Grace – to offer up the opportunity for her parents to be together, and then rip it away from her if it doesn't work out?

They're very different, her and Sam, just as they're very similar. Both of them, she recognises, are stubborn, intelligent, drawn to power. Both have an issue accepting that they're wrong, and, once they've decided on something, they're very difficult to persuade otherwise.

But, at the same time, they're both loyal and passionate. They share hobbies, careers, priorities. They could be a recipe for disaster – or they could be the best relationship either of them could ever hope for.

It all depends on whether they're both up for the challenge of forgetting elements of the past.

All too soon, Connie's back on the ground floor, and she emerges into an empty looking ED. Good, she thinks, at least she's not going to be needed in resus – and she should be able to extract Sam from the floor relatively easily, without bringing about suspicion. Not that it would anyway; pretty much everyone must know by now that he ordered an experimental, non-approved drug pretending he had her authorisation. Knowing her team, they've probably got another bet on whether or not he'll still be part of the team come tomorrow morning.

Nobody bothers her as she walks past the team desk in the centre of the department, which makes a pleasant change. When she enters her office, Connie notices that she did leave her phone in here earlier – there's a missed call from Hanssen's assistant, and a text from Elliot Hope, but nothing else.

Nothing to distract her – or provide an opportunity to avoid this discussion with Sam Strachan.

She emerges from her office again, impulsively deciding that this is the moment to get him. It only takes a minute to find him across the hall in minors, signing off a patient's treatment. She watches him for a moment, taking the time to think not only about how handsome he is, but also the way that he treats the patients. He's kind, she remembers, and focused. Patient care is the centre of his way of working.

He looks up and catches her watching him, but she doesn't mind. Or at least, she doesn't mind until he tells her that he doesn't want to work on them, and that it was a moment of weakness when he kissed her – twice.

"Sam," she calls, deliberately neutral. "My office, please."

She turns around and walks away before he can reply, re-entering her office and taking a seat. She leaves the door open, though, keen for him to enter as seamlessly as possible.

Before he enters the room, though, she decides that it's too…strange to have the conversation with her behind the desk. It would incite the feeling that she's his boss immediately – and that would be too similar to how they were before, and how their roles were reversed during his brief stint as Medical Director. So Connie moves across to the sofa, taking a seat on the left-hand side of it, taking a moment to glance around the office and check that all of the blinds are closed.

They are – good. It's not suspicious to have them closed, she decides; at least three or four days a week, she leaves them closed, to stop people peering in. It gets so distracting, sometimes, when random people look into her office. Though, of course, her official reason is that it's a potential breach of patient confidentiality.

Sam enters, and she notices the look of confusion on his face when he doesn't see her sitting behind the desk.

"You're over here," he says, his tone questioning, as he closes the door. "Makes a change."

Connie begins to wonder whether she's made a terrible, terrible mistake.

* * *

Thanks for reading chapter one! I'd really like to hear your thoughts, so please let me know :)


	2. Admissions

**Thank you all so much for your lovely comments on the previous chapter! I'll try and reply to everyone individually, but I really appreciate them! Please feel free to continue to leave reviews!**

* * *

Chapter Two:

"You're over here," Sam comments as he steps into the room. "Makes a change."

Connie just nods, her vocal chords stricken by a sudden, irrational fear. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe she should just tell him that she wants to go back to how things were – attempt to be professional in all aspects of their relationship, except for Grace.

But somewhere inside, Connie fights to silence this voice. For once, she doesn't want to self-sabotage herself, as she always manages to do. First with Michael, then with Sam, and then again with Jacob – this hospital seems to see her making the worst decisions when it comes to romance and men.

Then she realises that Sam's expecting an answer beyond a nod, and she just about manages to swallow. Has she ever been this nervous before? "Er, yes," she begins, almost proud of herself for getting a word out. "I…I…it felt a bit…" she trails off, knowing exactly what she wants to say and not being able to say it. This is her downfall, it's her downfall every time she has the chance to mend her relationship with Grace – she just can't get the words out, and the other person in the conversation doesn't believe she can get the words out.

"Formal?" Sam supplies, a small-ish smile on his face. He walks across the room slowly, arms spread open, and gestures to the space next to Connie. "Yeah I would agree. May I?"

"Yes, of course," Connie replies, irrationally pleased with herself for getting an entire three words not. Not that they were particularly emotional words, of course. "I…I…" She begins, but she can't get the words out.

For the first time, though, Sam doesn't interrupt, and he doesn't expect her to rush. Strange, she thinks. He always tries to get the first – and the last – word.

"I…I'm not good at this," she confesses, and Sam laughs a little. Only with his laugh does she feel the tension release, and realise that there was any to begin with.

"You don't say," Sam says, but, for once, he doesn't sound mocking. He sounds genuine. Connie turns to look at him, and his expression is open. "Take your time. I won't interrupt."

Connie takes a couple of deep breaths before moving her body slightly, so that she's almost directly facing Sam. She hopes that this might help her to actually get the words out – to look into his eyes and find out how to phrase that she wants to be with him, but she doesn't know if they'd work.

"I never thought that we'd ever be in this situation again – not that it ever really happened before, but," Connie begins, rambling a little. Maybe if she stops overthinking things, it'll be easier. "But then this afternoon happened, and…you make me so _angry_ , Sam, but you also…you…you…" she trails off but, true to his word, Sam doesn't interrupt – even though it looks like he wants to.

"You're kind, and you're funny, and I like who you are," the words come out, and she notices that he's a little surprised. "And I don't know how it would work because we seem incapable of having a conversation without an argument…but…but, if you are too, I want to try."

Sam smiles and shifts over a little, closing the gap between them. "Very eloquently put," he comments, and she can't quite tell if he's taking the mick out of her. "We have so much history…it's just become a habit to argue with you, even if I agree with what you're saying."

Connie nods, and begins to wonder whether she was right to open up. It almost sounds as though Sam's trying to let her down gently.

"But I didn't see you for ten years, pretty much, and it was strange because all I wanted to do was see you at the same time as I wanted to forget you," Sam continues, looking away at the floor for a moment. When his gaze meets Connie's again, it's full of passion and longing – and openness. Once again, he's opening up to her. "I wanted to forget you because _nobody_ measured up to you, not one bit. And I hated how much power you had over me, even on the other side of the world. So when I saw you again, those feelings bubbled to the surface – and it just became a competition again."

"What are you saying?" Connie whispers, not daring to let her hopes build again, just for him to dash them.

"What I'm _saying_ , Connie, is that…you're right," Sam replies, biting the inside of his cheek a little. "There's always been something here, but we were always too stubborn to consider changing ourselves – or our priorities – to consider what we could be."

"True," Connie concedes. Not that it's really a concession, she thinks, as he's simply agreeing with her.

"Well, you did say it," Sam replies, laughing a little. "I'm not good at talking about feelings, but I'd like to try just being us. Just being Sam and Connie, not Mrs Beauchamp, Clinical Lead, and Mr Strachan, God Knows What I Am. Because that's where we've always gone wrong, isn't it?"

They're still looking at each other, but Connie can't bring herself to look at anything other than Sam Strachan. It's like, as of this moment, he's a completely different person, someone she hasn't seen before. Someone who – for the first time – is willing to concede to her that they've both been stubborn in the past. And for Sam Strachan to admit a mistake…it's strange.

"So we're agreed?" Connie confirms, irrationally wanting clarification. They've spoken and literally stared at one another for a whole conversation, and she's still not sure that she can believe that they are actually a "they".

Sam smirks a little, and Connie's eyes flit from his eyes down to his mouth for a moment.

"You make it sound like a business arrangement," he says, leaning even closer. She realises that she too has moved, and they're almost in the centre of the sofa together. "But yes, we're agreed. We'll…let's go out for a drink or something later. _Talk,_ as people who might or might not end up wanting to go for another drink together. No pressure."

"Just Sam and Connie having a drink," Connie murmurs.

Sam laughs. "Yes, exactly."

She's not sure which of them leans in first, but their lips meet, and it's as if they're back where they left off in that store cupboard, desperate for one another.

This time, however, they show restraint, and a short while later, they're both sitting next to one another on the sofa, albeit with no gap between their bodies. Just about professional enough if someone walks into the office, Connie decides, except for the fact that Sam's arm has somehow twisted itself around her shoulders.

"Now, Mrs Beauchamp, just _why_ did the CEO want a word with you?" Sam asks, his voice sultry in the way that he's always known she can't resist.

She tells him.

* * *

It takes Dylan a couple of moments to process what his patient, Sean Taylor, has said to him. _"Because my dad's a medical inspector or something for hospitals – and I'm going to tell him_ exactly _how shit a doctor you are!"_

Damnit. How does he always manage to acquire the patients who can actually cause problems. Other than Connie and that Hayley woman when she first started, he can't remember another time either of his fellow consultants managed to get the problematic patient. Well, except for Elle and Grace Beauchamp-Strachan, but that hardly counts. Unlike himself, of course. He's had more than the rest of them put together – and that Sebastian Coe, too. Even his mentees are problematic in this hospital.

He takes a moment to consider his next move, before deciding that the pacifying route is probably the best. He hates it – it feels sleazy – but he can't be doing with the paperwork and bureaucracy that comes with a complaint. Especially not from the son of a medical inspector.

"Look, Sean, I'm sorry if I seemed rude," Dylan says, just about forcing the words out. He tries to make his voice sincere, though he's not entirely sure how successfully he manages it. "It just really irritates me that bright young people like yourself, who know exactly the state of the NHS at the moment, choose to come into an Emergency Department, when you could quite easily have gone to the GP or Minor Injuries Unit. It's nothing personal."

Sean narrows his eyes, assessing Dylan. "I don't care. You were rude, and I'm telling my dad."

"You sound like a petulant child," Dylan spits out, unable to help himself. "I've said I'm sorry, and I am. Now I'm going to go and treat a patient who actually needs treating. Goodbye, Sean."

As he walks out of the cubicle, Dylan forces himself to put the patient out of his mind. If anything happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world – and at least he's already apologised.

* * *

A couple of hours later, about half an hour before the shift is due to end, Connie calls Dylan and Elle into her office, intending on telling them about the new arrangement with Darwin.

As she waits for them to enter, she prays that Sam hasn't told anyone in the hour since she told him. He shouldn't – he should know that it's confidential information until the highest ranking members of the department are told – but he might slip up. He's done it before, when he accidentally managed to tell the entire ward that she was pregnant with Grace.

She feels a little guilty for doubting him, but forces herself to push that out of her mind. _This_ is exactly the sort of issue that might cause their relationship – if it ever exists – to fail, she decides. The interface between their professional and personal lives has always been calamitous. There's going to need to be boundaries drawn…but that's a conversation for another day and another time.

"Connie," Elle says as she pokes her head around the door. "Dylan's on his way down from cubicles, so he shouldn't be too long. Do you want me to grab you a coffee or anything?"

Connie shakes her head, gesturing for Elle to enter her office. "I've already got some for us all – hope your order hasn't changed." She tries her best to be semi-jovial, in that weird professional way of hers, and wonders if she succeeds. Elle's expression is confused, so she supposes that it must have worked, at least a little.

"Thanks," Elle says slowly, stepping fully through the door, though she leaves it ajar.

Then there's an awkward silence as Elle takes one of the seats in front of Connie's desk, with neither of them entirely sure what to say. Besides a couple of times in the department, they've not really spoken since Connie ended the inquest into Elle's alleged misconduct; they rarely work in the same sector of the ED on any given shift. It's worked well for them so far, but it's left both of them very unprepared for a situation where they're in a room together, alone, with nobody else around to break the silence.

Connie decides, as Clinical Lead, it's her job to initiate a conversation, so she says, "did you have a nice weekend?" It's only Tuesday, so she thinks that she can get away with asking.

Elle smiles widely and nods. "Yes, it was lovely! Took the boys out to go-carting at Excape, which was nice – they don't normally want to spend a lot of time with their old mum, but I guess it has some perks, as I paid for everything!" She's as exuberant as ever, and Connie almost regrets asking the question. "Then we went to TGI Friday's, which I would _not_ recommend, not sure if you're fan, but the one at Excape was painful. We even managed to fit in a trip to the seaside on Sunday, though I could tell that they were desperate to get home by the end."

There's silence as Elle pauses for breath, and Connie smiles a little. At least it's filled the silence – and Elle hasn't asked any questions about her life.

"Sounds lovely," Connie replies, trying to sound enthused. She's lucky, she supposes, that she has a daughter. "I do hope you had an ice-cream at the beach – it was lovely weather, wasn't it?"

Before Elle can reply, Dylan pops through the door and closes it. Surprisingly, he takes a seat before Connie even has to ask him – though something tells her that he's a little more distracted than normal.

"Look, Dylan, Connie's got us coffee!" Elle comments before Connie can say anything, lifting Dylan's cup and sticking it in his hand. "Any meeting is a million times less painful with coffee – no offence," Elle continues, quickly adding the last bit as she meets Connie's gaze.

"None taken," Connie replies, taking a sip of her own drink. She's not going to sleep tonight, with the amount of caffeine that she's consumed. "Well, since we're all here, I suppose we can get started."

"Make it quick," Dylan says, setting his coffee down on the side. "It's a bit cold, but thank you."

Connie hesitates for a moment, wondering whether she should try and make a bit of small talk before she decides against it. Dylan appreciates it even less than she does, and she's had her obligatory conversation with Elle.

"So, I had a meeting with Henrik earlier – completely out of the blue," Connie begins. "He's decided that he wants me to work between the ED and Darwin, primarily as an advisory figure upstairs with regards to the Centre of Excellence status."

She notices that Dylan's expression becomes angry and Elle appears confused. Excellent.

"Once again, the hospital bureaucracy is leaving the ED understaffed," Dylan comments, his tone angry. "Very well, looks like I'll have to throw another person's phone in their drink." He picks up his coffee, and takes another long sip. "Still cold. Great."

Elle looks across at Dylan and smiles in amazement. "Dylan, did you just make a _joke_?"

Dylan looks ready to reply, so Connie interrupts.

"I'm as unimpressed with the situation as you are, Dylan. It certainly wasn't my choice. I've secured an agreement that I will work upstairs two or three days a week, and work down here the other two. I've also ensured that, should the department struggle with my absence, locum support will be allocated as and when required." Well, she thinks, she still needs to get it in writing, but the agreement's pretty much confirmed, anyway.

Elle looks thoughtful, whilst Dylan's angry expression has faded a little.

"So what happens to your responsibilities?" Dylan asks, "as I'm almost certain that it's impossible to be in two places at once, Connie. Though I'm sure that if anyone can do it, it's you."

"Yes, that's a concern," Elle adds. "I know that your priorities remain unchanged down here, but I'm not sure how you'll manage to do it when you're only here two days a week…and the paperwork. You get _so much_ paperwork to do – and meetings! How can you do two jobs at once?"

Connie smiles a little, and wonders privately just why Elle ever accepted the Clinical Lead position in the first place.

"Well, I was hoping that you two would help out a little," she responds, noticing Dylan's gaze shoot up to meet hers. He had to have suspected it, surely? "I will still take responsibility and do as much paperwork as I can, but if you could run the department in my absence, it would be greatly appreciated."

"I'll take charge of rotas," Dylan immediately exclaims, surprising Connie a little. "I'll make sure that Strachan and I are never on the same shift," he continues, grumbling a little about the issues with Sam Strachan.

"Very well," Connie agrees, mentally making a note to check all rotas submitted to HR. "And you, Elle?"

Elle hesitates, and Connie wonders whether she's massively misjudged her fellow consultant.

"I…sure," Elle agrees suddenly. "Henrik clearly thinks that you're the woman for the job upstairs, so I'm sure that I can help you out down here. And it's not like you're disappearing _forever_ , is it?" Elle suddenly sounds a little panicked, and Connie decides to reassure her.

"No, no, it's definitely not forever – I made that very clear to Henrik," Connie clarifies. "I'd like to hope it's only a few weeks, but it could be a matter of months. If, however, the arrangement endangers patients at all, I will call it off and return down here immediately. You have my word."

"Well if that's everything," Dylan says, standing up suddenly. "I need to go and get a coffee that's hot. Good day." He walks out of the door, leaving it open as he always does.

"And I should go and check on my patient," Elle continues, smiling a little at Connie. "When does this start, by the way?"

Grimacing a little, Connie looks back at Elle. "Monday," she says, noticing Elle wince a little. "I know, I know, it's completely out of my hands. At least it's not the day before, which makes a nice change with Henrik."

"Absolutely," Elle agrees, stepping back towards the door, coffee in hand. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Connie agrees, and waits for the door to close. When it does, she lets out a deep breath, taking a second to process the meeting.

It's gone better than she thought it might have, she reflects. Dylan, whilst obviously unimpressed, didn't refuse to take on any extra responsibility, and Elle seems willing to try. It's also as she promised them: the moment that patient care is compromised is the moment that she steps away from Darwin, regardless of what Henrik Hanssen has to say.

She didn't bother to tell them what Sam said when she told him, because she didn't think that they'd appreciate being told that a registrar – who, until recently, had threatened their jobs – was willing to help with the paperwork side of things. And after Dylan made a comment about dropping Sam's phone in his drink, Connie realised that it would be best to keep Sam's name out of the conversation altogether.

The phone on her desk starts ringing, jolting Connie out of her reverie, and she picks it up, half in a daze.

"Connie Beauchamp, ED Clinical Lead," she says.

"Not for long you're not," a jovially familiar voice responds. Jac. "So I hear we're to be work buddies again, Connie. Bet you're excited to get back up to where the real action happens."

Connie smiles, despite herself. "Well, the action starts down here, Jac," she counters. "And that's not really what it's about is it? It's me coming up to save the day, as usual."

"Yes, well, that's a side issue – what's _really_ interesting is that you're leaving Sam Strachan down in your ED," Jac replies. "Aren't you scared that it'll disappear when you're not looking?"

Blushing, Connie's glad that she's sat alone. "Not at all. I can handle Sam Strachan." She deliberately keeps her voice neutral, but it's harder than she expected it to be.

"Well, if there anyone who can, it's you, Connie."

* * *

She meets Sam in her office, a little after the rest of the team have finished their shift. Connie's more than a little nervous about this…it's not exactly a date, but that's probably the closest word to going for a drink.

"Hey," Sam says gently as he pushes her door open. "You ready to go?"

She is, having recently reapplied almost all of her makeup, and so stands up. "Yes, I just need to drop this file off at the front desk on the way out," Connie replies, indicating to the file on the desk. "Good shift?"

"It was alright," Sam says, hovering in the doorway. "Would be a lot better if I wasn't stuck on minors, but I suppose that…you're right. I'm not a trauma surgeon."

"You're not a trauma _doctor_ ," she corrects him, crossing her office so that they're almost touching. "We're not surgeons down here, Sam. No matter how much we might want to be."

She closes the door behind them and they walk through the centre of the ED in silence. The department's still pretty empty, which surprises Connie. Normally there's a lot more hustle and bustle than this. Connie drops the file on the relevant pile in the centre of the desk, and then makes her way back out towards Sam.

"Not embarrassed to be seen with me?" Sam asks, chuckling a little as they briskly make their way towards the exit. "I would have thought you'd want to keep this quiet."

Connie looks across at him, her expression a little stern. "Sshh," she says. "Don't talk about it. I mean, we have a daughter together; I'm sure it's reasonable that we walk out of _work_ together."

They don't talk again until they're outside the ED. Almost as soon as they step outside, Connie feels an invisible pressure lift. They no longer have to be doctors, ones who usually disagree on the best course of action to take. Now they're just Connie and Sam.

"Just Connie and Sam," Sam says, as if he's reading her mind. Which, to be honest, he could be.

"Just Connie and Sam," Connie repeats, smiling a little.

They stand to the side of the entrance for a moment, neither of them sure what to do.

"Rope and Anchor?" Sam suggests after a moment. "Or, actually, I think Noel said that the team were heading over there – we could go somewhere else?"

Connie hesitates for a moment, and she can sense that Sam thinks that she's reconsidering her decision – which isn't entirely unfair. She's been known to make one decision and then change it suddenly when it comes to Sam Strachan.

"I…I don't think I want a drink," she says, hesitating a little. Sam's expression falls. "Not that I don't want to spend time with you – that's not it."

She takes a deep breath.

"What is it?" Sam asks, his expression a cross between confused and concerned.

"I don't like to drink and drive," she continues, forcing herself to speak. It's like before; she doesn't want to confess something that makes her vulnerable. But she must. "Not after…what happened."

It's the first time that they've even vaguely spoken about the accident from her point of view.

"Oh yeah, of course, I'm sorry," he mutters, looking away for a moment. "I didn't think…sorry…"

"It's fine," Connie says immediately, waving a hand. "But I'd quite like a hot drink, if that suits?" She feels weird, but everything about this is weird.

And nothing is, at the same time.

Sam nods, meeting her gaze once again. She's relieved to see that the concerned expression has disappeared, replaced instead by an intrigued one. He's open, and she hopes that she can be, too.

"Coffee sounds good."

They head across to the coffee stall across the way from the ED, walking past the memorial to Cal on the way. It's still difficult to think about the fact that one of her doctors is gone forever, and Connie admits this. It's part of her attempt to be open, even if it is talking about work.

She pays for their drinks – and he makes a quip about the fact that he's practically unemployed nowadays – before they take them across towards the main hospital building. There's a reflective garden outside, one that she rarely used when she worked in this sector of the hospital, but it's quite nice to walk through.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to Sam, Connie thinks, as they walk around the garden, hidden from view by the various trees and bushes. She doesn't want to correct him—she doesn't _need_ to correct him.

"I have to say, I preferred the Top of the Rock to the Empire State Building," Sam says, answering a question Connie asked him about New York. "There's just something so…majestic about the view of the Empire State Building in your view of the New York skyline. It's as if it epitomises what the city is about – or Manhattan, anyway."

"It's been a few years since I last went – of course – but, I have to say, I think that Brooklyn was my favourite," Connie muses, thinking back to the last time she was in New York. It was for an organ donation conference, back when she worked for the board in Switzerland, and she had spent four days in the city. Sam had had Grace for almost the whole time, which was fair, so she had had the chance to explore the city by herself, between the various talks she attended.

Sam looks across at her, his interest piqued. "Brooklyn Bridge, by any chance?" He asks, and Connie nods. "Don't ask me why, I just knew that you'd like that."

Connie laughs. "I'll try not to take it personally that you're comparing me to a bridge, Sam," she says, trying to joke with him. It feels natural, too natural for them to ignore it.

She doesn't know how long they spend in the garden, but they're still walking long after their cups are empty. But then she feels the need to check her watch, and sees that it's after 7pm. And then she remembers Grace.

"You should go," Connie says, interrupting Sam as he tells her about the view he had of Andy Murray at the US Open last year.

He stops talking, and she can see a hurt expression forming on his face. That's something about Sam that she's always liked: he's never quite able to hide his emotions, no matter how much he wants to.

"Right…" he trails off.

"Grace," Connie reminds him, her voice gentle. "You need to go home to Grace. She needs you." It hurts her to say it, because no matter how much she wants to be there too, she can't be. Not yet, anyway.

Sam reaches out and places a hand on Connie's shoulder, his expression gentle. It's so strangely formal compared to how intimate they were earlier, but it feels right. They should go slow.

"She's going to come back to you," Sam says, one corner of his mouth twisting into a smile. "She's just stubborn – exactly like her mother. It's going to be hard having two Beauchamp women around, but I guess it'll be pretty fun as well."

She smiles back and steps forwards, so that they're almost – but not quite – hugging. "Thanks, Sam. It's been lovely."

"And definitely better than having a drink in a stuffy pub where there might even be people drinking chardonnay," Sam replies, making Connie laugh. "I still think that the only ban on migration should be against people who drink chardonnay."

"And beer," Connie adds, shivering a little.

"Now that's maybe something we're going to disagree on, Connie," Sam jokes, wrapping his arm around her back tentatively. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to go for another drink, perhaps? And maybe some food with it?"

"I'd like that very much."

She pulls away first, realising that if they stay there much longer, she's not going to let him go back to Grace – and that's not right. Their daughter shouldn't suffer.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning, Sam," she adds, smiling a little. "Have a nice night."

"You too, Connie," Sam replies, a little mischief in his eyes. "Don't miss me too much."

She begins to walk away, before she turns back, suddenly realising something. "Sam?" She calls again. "As we're, well, we don't have a label or anything…and I don't think you would anyway…but please don't mention anything to Grace. I don't want to hurt her, or make her think that anything…I just don't want her to get her hopes up, if this doesn't work out."

"I won't," Sam reassures her. "But I'd really like to hope that this does work out."

"So do I."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please leave your thoughts in a review :)**


	3. Decisions

Chapter Three:

* * *

"I just don't understand how Connie Beauchamp manages it," Elle sighs, burying her head in her hands. She's sitting in the Clinical Lead office with Dylan, an absolute mountain of paperwork in front of them both, questioning pretty much every decision she's ever made that has led to her sitting here like this.

"She's sold her soul to the devil, I imagine," Dylan replies off-hand, his attention primarily focused on the patient file in front of him.

"She does _all_ of this, and she treats patients, deals with complaints, goes to _meetings_ ," Elle continues, almost as if she hasn't heard Dylan's reply. "And I've never seen her look less than perfect. And did I mention that she treats patients – more than me last month!"

"Like I said, she's sold her soul to the devil," Dylan repeats. "Or the paperwork equivalent. How she doesn't just _burn_ all of these files is beyond me."

"And some of those _meetings_ – she's incredible in them!" This time, Elle definitely hasn't heard Dylan, and he breaks his focus on the folder to look at her. "I went to the Heads of Department meeting on Tuesday representing us, obviously, and she was there with Jac, and _oh my god_ , the information she knew! The detail! And when people started to interrogate me, she ended up defending Darwin _and_ the ED in the same breath!"

"Well, I mean, she _is_ the ED's Clinical Lead," Dylan comments, a little sarcastically.

"I just don't know how she does it," Elle concludes, a little glumly.

"I just don't know why we agreed to do this," Dylan adds, a little more loudly. This time, he gets Elle's attention. "I mean, I know _you're_ friends with Hanssen so would have caved anyway, but why have _I_ ended up doing this? I come to work to treat patients, not spend half a day locked in an office analysing patient statistics and signing my name to other people's problem solving. They're not idiots; surely we know that they've done the right thing?"

"What do you mean, I would have caved?" Elle demands. "I mean, probably, but it wasn't a done deal, Dylan! And you agreed to help because you _know_ you'd rather have the fun Elle around, rather than angry Clinical Lead Elle…"

Dylan ponders this for a moment, then shrugs. "Well, I would rather just have a Clinical Lead in the department to deal with all of this." He doesn't mention anything about the fact that he's still waiting to hear if that teenage boy, Sean Taylor, is going to press his father to make an official complaint – or, worse, an inspection of the department.

"Ah, it's not going to be for _too_ much longer, Dylan," Elle replies, trying to make herself sound cheerier. "We've done it for three weeks! We can do it for a few more!"

"And just _when_ is our esteemed colleague returning to us full-time?"

Elle shrugs. "Who knows – maybe that's something to ask her when she's down here tomorrow," she suggests. "And, actually, I've got a good idea…why don't we just leave the paperwork in here for her? She'll probably get through it about a hundred times faster than we would…"

Dylan looks at Elle, his expression a little exasperated. "Why didn't you suggest this an hour ago, Elle? Then maybe we'd get out of this place on time today."

Without waiting for a reply, Dylan drops his pen and walks out of the office, replacing his stethoscope around his neck. No, being Clinical Lead is definitely not for him.

.x.

Up on Darwin, Connie's also sitting in an office – her old office, to be exact. She's even sitting in her old chair, something which hasn't particularly pleased her colleague.

"Visitors generally sit on the other side of the desk," Jac points out, as she takes Matteo's chair and wheels it across to her desk.

"I'm not a visitor," Connie replies absent-mindedly, reading a paper about the possible benefits of external aortic support that she found on Jac's desk. "Do you really think that this is worth the paper it's printed on?" She asks, looking up and gesturing with the paper.

Jac shrugs. "It's problematic, I suppose, but it's got potential," she replies, leaning back in her stolen chair. "After all, things have changed since you were up here properly, Connie."

Connie fixes her with a pointed stare, which would have left lesser colleagues trembling. She's pleased to see that Jac can still hold her own, and stand up to her. It'd be disappointing to have any less in her former department's Clinical Lead.

"Let's not be rash, Jac," Connie says, setting the paper back down on the desk with a gentle pat. "We both know that I'm perfectly capable – and that I've kept up with the field's developments. I thought we'd put this behind us after I diagnosed and treated Mr Boynet's condition before any of your team had even decided which tests to run?"

"True," Jac concedes, "but, don't forget, this is my department, Connie. _Not_ yours."

Connie smiles a little, and with this, the building tension dissipates. "I'm very well aware of that, Jac – and before you ask, no, I don't want to return to cardiothoracics full time at the moment," she says, a little patronisingly. She's lost track of how many times she's quashed the rumour that she's here to take over again in the three weeks since she primarily relocated to Darwin. "I am here to help you to do two things: to defeat Guy's proposal for an extension to neurosurgery, and to ensure that Darwin maintains the Centre of Excellence status that _my_ endeavours gained. That's all."

"Well, glad we're sorted," Jac says, sounding a little unsure of herself. It's the first time that Connie's heard her colleague sound less than one hundred percent certain of absolutely anything – and it pleases her more than it should. "I'll get on the phone to estates and ask them to get an extra desk. Or we just kick Matteo out until we've finished – your choice."

Connie shrugs, and turns her attention to the computer to her left, no longer as interested in her colleague's interactions. She set herself a deadline of getting through at least the background reading on potential successors to the Herzig by twelve thirty, and she's currently unlikely to reach this deadline. This is problematic: if she doesn't, it'll be the second time this week that she's failed to achieve something – and that's not the Connie Beauchamp way.

And yet she can't push the deadline back even half an hour, as she's meeting Sam in the lobby at quarter to one, so that they can go for lunch. It's been arranged for two days, and she's not willing to push it back – partially because she knows that his lunchbreak is set in stone into the rota, and also because she _really_ , really wants to go.

"Do whatever you like – it's going to be your desk, either way."

"Excuse me?" Jac exclaims, shocked. "This is my office."

Connie turns back to face her, a little irritated. "This is my desk," she counters, "I brought it with me. Now, you can either use Matteo's desk, get yourself another desk, or just leave the entire proposal and counter-proposal to me and not take a step into this office for the next four or five months. Either way, can you decide _quietly_ , as I have a large amount of reading to do before my lunch appointment?"

Silence falls in the Darwin Consultants' office.

.x.

Twelve thirty rolls around and, on the dot, Connie closes the pdf window containing the final article she challenged herself to read, having just about achieved her goal. Or, rather, her original goal – as often happens with research, digging deeper into the subject led to discovering more and more articles to read. It's a potential black hole – though thankfully, she's always been pretty good at recognising when enough research is enough.

She digs out the makeup from her bag and uses the mirror on the corner of the desk to check that her eyeliner and mascara is still intact. Then she applies a little foundation to the corners of her cheeks where her hand has rubbed it away slightly, before sorting out her lipstick. It's a bolder colour than she normally wears to work, and it's a little off-putting to see it, but it always makes her feel more confident.

Things have been going well with Sam – too well, her old self would say: something's going to happen soon. But the new Connie is happy to just keep rolling with it, to maintain the fact that, outside of the workplace, they're just Connie and Sam, two people getting to know each other in a romantic manner, who just _happen_ to work with each other. And just happen to have a child together.

They've spent a fair amount of time with each other over the past three weeks, and she's pleased to say that there's no chance that any of her colleagues could suspect that there's anything going on between her and Sam Strachan. If they spend any time together at work, it's generally outside of normal working hours, and in the gardens where they went that first night. Otherwise, they've been for a couple of meals together, and he stayed the night once, last week. When she had tried to protest – because she didn't want Grace to be on her own, and also, she didn't want to risk their relationship becoming purely physical, like last time – Sam had told her that Grace had asked to stay at her grandmother's house.

As she puts the finishing touches to her makeup, her mind wanders back to that night, when it felt like her entire life had changed. He'd made dinner whilst she had had a bath after work – it had been a rough day, and she'd lost a patient in resus, who bore a significant resemblance to her father – and had been there to support her. She hadn't wanted to talk much, so he filled the silences, and she had been grateful for that. He told her about things that, now he'd told her, she wished she had known before: he played the violin until he was sixteen; his favourite Mexican food was a spicy chicken burrito; he speaks passable French, except for the fact that he said _voulez-vous coucher avec moi_ to an elderly man, thinking it was a request for the man's address, and had received a black eye in return.

Though Connie had wanted to, she hadn't told him about her father, or her family history – she figured that it was probably a bit early in the relationship to start giving explanations as to why she'd turned out the way she had. So instead, she'd poured them both another glass of wine, and dug out the old violin she'd found in her childhood bedroom a few years before, enticing Sam to play.

He had stayed over, but they hadn't done anything beyond kiss. Neither of them wanted to impact on the plan to 'go slow', and it hadn't felt right. It _had_ felt right, however, to wake up with his arm draped over her body, and she was glad she'd let him stay over.

Connie's jolted from her reverie by someone clearing their throat in the doorway. Jac. She'd disappeared at some point between article three and four to 'check on a patient', and had never returned.

"Well, isn't _someone_ looking glam," Jac says, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Who did you say you're having lunch with again?"

"I didn't," Connie replies, dropping the lipstick back into her bag.

"Is it that hunky nurse from last year?" Jac presses, crossing her arms. "I mean, things looked steamy enough then."

Connie shakes her head. "No," she admits, "it isn't."

Jac narrows her eyes. "You split up then? What happened?"

"I didn't realise that we'd crossed over from colleagues to friends, Jac," Connie replies, slightly sharply. "All you need to know is that I'm going for lunch, and I'll be back later."

Grinning slightly, Jac takes a step closer to Connie. "You know you want to tell me," she says, a little glint in her eyes. "If not hunky nurse, then who? Connie Beauchamp only wears red lipstick for the men who have a hold on her heart."

Blushing, Connie walks towards and past Jac, pausing to say, " _no_ man has a hold on my heart."

Just before Connie gets the door open, Jac says, "final guess: Sam Strachan."

Connie freezes for a moment, almost imperceptibly, before she replies. "Definitely not. I do know some men from outside a hospital, Jac."

She's probably going to regret saying this at some point in the future.

.

She's only a couple of minutes late to meet Sam downstairs, and she spots him immediately, his eyes trained on the lift. The moment they make eye contact, he smiles, the movement bringing his face to life, and it makes her smile, too. He's infectious – in a good way.

"Hey," he says as she reaches him. "Get the reading done okay?"

"After Jac stopped questioning if I'm upstairs to take her job, it went relatively smoothly," Connie replies, continuing to walk out of the door. Whilst she's not extremely bothered if anyone sees them walking together – there's always the cast-iron excuse of talking about Grace – it's easier if they're spotted as rarely as possible together. Plus, she's keen to get to lunch; she forgot to buy milk last night, so skipped her routine of cereal for breakfast.

"I mean, if you wanted her job, I'm sure you'd have it already," Sam adds with a grin, holding open the door for her. "Ladies first."

"True," Connie agrees. "How's the department looking today?"

Sam frowns, and she adds, "I've not been downstairs all week, Sam! I have to know how the place is looking."

"Yeah, it isn't bad," he says. "Meeting most of your targets, though Dylan seems willing to sacrifice every KPI in favour of staying as far away from me as possible. Just what is it with him?"

Connie rolls her eyes. "I'll have a word with him – he's got to be professional," she responds, buttoning up her coat. "It's colder than I thought it would be today – I'll ring Grace and ask if she wants to go to the park another day. I don't want her getting ill."

"You'll still come over though?" Sam asks as they reach his car. He swiftly unlocks it, and opens the passenger door for Connie, before walking round to his own side. "She's looking forward to it."

Though she doesn't say so, Connie's ecstatic. She's spent more time with her daughter in the last three weeks than in the last three months, and it's starting to feel as though they're on their way back to how they were before the accident. Maybe even better because, for the first time, she's not in competition with Sam to be Grace's favourite parent: this time, they're on the same page, with the same parenting goals. As it should have always been, she now recognises.

They spend the journey to Lucca's singing along to Queen, taking it in turns to sing each verse. She doesn't know some words, and neither does Sam, so they just fit in whatever word pops into their mind first, causing the other to laugh hysterically. By the time they arrive, Connie's out of breath from laughing so hard, and she takes a couple of seconds to compose herself before getting out of the car.

After ordering drinks – water for Sam, pomegranate and elderflower juice for Connie – they take a seat at one of the enclosed booths. It feels distant enough from the rest of the restaurant to give the impression that this entire place is theirs alone.

Whilst they wait for their food to arrive, conversation turns to the best concerts they've been to, and the worst. Though their taste in music is generally aligned, Sam can't stop laughing when Connie tells him that she went to every Rick Astley concert she could get tickets for in the 1980s, and she snorts when he admits to being partial to a bit of Spice Girls every once in a while.

"Look, I was going to say earlier but I forgot…" Sam begins, pausing to take a drink of water, and Connie freezes a little. Whilst she's getting more and more used to sharing things with Sam – and dealing with the _infuriating_ way that he begins to say something and then pauses, almost for dramatic effect – sometimes, she struggles to overcome the idea that he's going to say something that she doesn't want to hear.

"Go on," she murmurs, taking a gulp of her own drink and wishing that there was something a bit stronger in it.

"About Grace…I think that we should tell her, you know, about us," Sam continues.

"Are you sure that that's a good idea?" Connie replies through still-frozen lips. "I mean, I…I don't want to get her hopes up."

Sam's brow crinkles slightly in confusion. "What do you mean, get her hopes up?"

Connie blushes, and breaks eye contact with him, looking down at the table instead. She fiddles with the napkin underneath her cutlery, trying to gather her thoughts together. It's incredible to see how she can go from being as sharp as anything in a Heads of Department meeting to barely being able to string a sentence together with the person who she thinks she might want, potentially, maybe, to spend the rest of her life with.

"Connie," Sam prompts, his voice gentle. "Are you saying that you don't think that this…that _we_ aren't going anywhere?" He sounds confused, and as she forces herself to look at him, the only word to describe his expression is broken. He's not angry, not relieved…he's broken.

"No!" She declares emphatically, dropping her hold on the napkin. "I've never been happier, I don't think, these last few weeks," she doesn't add 'apart from Grace', it's not necessary. "But…what if we tell her, and then we realise that maybe we're not compatible? Or when I come back to the ED, what if we can't cope, being professionally and personally linked?"

"Then I'll find work somewhere else," Sam immediately interjects.

"But that isn't what I'm saying, Sam," Connie replies, frustrated that he's not understanding what she's saying. "I… _right now_ , I can see a future with you…and of course I want to share that with Grace. But what if we tell her now and then, next week or the week after, it suddenly clicks for you why we've never worked before? Or we're on a family holiday and I realise that this isn't what forever is supposed to feel like? I don't want to give her the prospect of a family unit for the first time in her life, just to then tell her that, no, we were wrong and it's best that mummy and daddy are separate?" She's grateful that Sam doesn't interrupt and lets her speak, though she's acutely aware of the fact that there's a tear rolling down her cheek.

He doesn't look broken anymore; in fact, he has the same steely determined look he had when he first arrived in her ED as a registrar.

"Connie, the fact that you're thinking this…it's _good_." Of all the things he could have said, Connie didn't expect him to say _this_. "But I think that the most important part of what you just said is that you can see a future with me. Because, Con, I can see a future with you, too…and I think that Grace needs to know that it's even a vague _possibility_ that we're going to be together."

She's distracted by the fact that he calls her Con – nobody she's cared about has called her that, ever. But now…now she likes it. Now, the nickname 'Con' will always remind her of Sam. And then she's distracted again from her initial distraction by the fact that Sam can see a future with her, too.

He reaches out and takes her left hand in his, and smiles. "I'm not saying that this is going to be plain sailing, because it's still pretty new – and it would be irresponsible of both of us to suggest that we're _never_ going to argue," Sam continues, sounding more and more passionate. "But I don't want to skulk around with you in the shadows, Connie, hiding from Grace until we know if we're going to last long enough to make it worthwhile her knowing. Because I want her to know, and I want us to try and be a family."

She's laughing a little even though she's still crying, because this is the strangest mixture of emotions she's ever felt. There's nothing that she wants more than to tell Grace about her and Sam – but she's still worried that Grace will reject her, and reject the idea of her parents being together. Just as she's worried that, should they split up in the future, Grace will take her dad's side. Again.

It seems ridiculous to be worrying about this. They've been an official "not official thing but definitely a thing" for three weeks. In any normal relationship, this should just about be the time that they're deciding if they're going to consider attaching a label to them, or if they just want to carry on having fun. They certainly shouldn't be deciding if they're ready to introduce the idea of them being together to their daughter.

Then again, things have never exactly been straightforward for them, have they? They went from work frenemies to lovers to enemies, to strangely coexisting with one another, to living on opposite sides of the world, all the while having the thoughts of the other in the back of their mind. Connie certainly never expected to be in this situation.

"We've done things backwards, haven't we?" Connie murmurs. "We had the breakup _then_ the baby, and now finally the relationship. It's not even backwards, it's completely ridiculous. _We're_ completely ridiculous."

Sam looks steadily at her. "Is that a we're going to tell Grace?" he presses.

"Is that a we're going to be official?" she retorts.

He doesn't hesitate as he says, "it is. If you want it, too. Because whilst it's been three weeks _now_ , Con, it feels like forever."

Slowly, hesitantly, she nods, before wiping the tears from her eyes with her right hand. She doesn't want to let go of him, not yet. "Okay," she agrees. "Let's tell Grace. But if she doesn't want it…"

"Then we put the brakes on until she's ready," Sam finishes. "Already thought it through, Connie. She's the most important thing to me, too."

.x.

Sam runs through the front doors to the ED, pausing to let a pregnant woman passed him, on his way to the staff room. He needs to get changed _now_ , because he's twenty minutes late back from his shift. He didn't even have time to park his car – he left it with Connie, figuring that she could get away with the extra ten minutes it takes to park and walk back into the building.

"Ah, Mr Strachan, good of you to join us," Elle comments, her tone stern. "I know that you're the former Medical Director and could do pretty much whatever you want, but when you're part of the _team_ , you take the allocated lunch time."

He tries to look sheepish, as if he's sorry about missing part of his shift. He is, deep down, but he's too buoyant about the state of his personal life to _really_ care about a dressing down from someone who isn't even the real department head.

"Sorry," he says, racking his brains to think of a decent excuse. "Not good, I know. But I had to have a meeting about...Grace." Because, technically, they _did_ talk about Grace, didn't they?

Elle shoots him a look and then sighs. "We all have children, Sam, and we all make it back from our lunch in time," she reminds him. "Just don't let it become a habit, okay? Things are difficult enough with you joining the team."

She starts to walk away, out of the staff room, before she turns back. "Oh, this afternoon you're with Doctor Hardy. Try and be gentle – like you would with Grace."

Sam sighs a little. This is the issue, with going from bureaucracy to doctor in an unfamiliar department rather than the other way around: they think you're an arsehole. Which, he has to admit, he was as Medical Director. He should have listened to Connie's advice – which she was relatively forthcoming with, given she'd held his job when she first arrived at Holby – rather than assuming that she was offering it only to stab him in the back.

If only they'd opened up to one another and admitted their feelings sooner, things could be very different right now.

Then again, he thinks as he swiftly changes, maybe not. Things have happened this way for a reason – maybe it's a good thing that it's taken them so long to get together. They know who they are as people – and they know just how hard they're willing to work to forget the bad blood between them and start…not afresh, but with a different focus to their relationship.

However, as he walks out of the staff room, Sam vows to push Connie out of his mind. They've made the agreement that, for now, they're going to be completely separate at work – there's nothing going on between them, as far as the entire hospital is concerned. And he can't have her distracting him without even being on the same floor as him.

"Doctor Hardy," Sam calls, noticing the young registrar walking by the staff room, a worried expression on his face. They've barely spoken since Cal's death, except for a few brief words at the funeral and in the aftermath of Ethan's confrontation with Scott Ellison.

Ethan turns around and, seeing Sam, looks confused. "Yes, Mr Strachan?"

Even now, Sam appreciates the fact that the staff down here still refer to him as _Mr_. Having spent however many years as a surgeon, he couldn't imagine going back to his first few years as _Doctor_ Strachan; it doesn't roll off the tongue well.

It doesn't roll off _Connie's_ tongue well.

"Doctor Gardner has asked that I work with you this afternoon – I understand you're in cubicles?" Sam continues, pushing all thoughts of Connie Beauchamp to the back of his mind.

Ethan looks suspicious for a moment, before shrugging. "Of course, whatever Doctor Gardner wishes," he says. "Yes, I'm in cubicles. If you want to take cubicle four, a new patient has just arrived and needs checking over. Cheers." He walks off before Sam can reply – or even ask if he's okay – and Sam wonders whether the young registrar is just busy, or if he's deliberately avoiding him.

He's determined to find out.

.

It takes a couple of hours until Sam gets enough of a break in patients to catch up with Ethan. He deals with a few broken bones, an infected abscess, and a questionable case of food poisoning in the meantime, gaining a new level of respect for the ED doctors, once again. At least upstairs, he only generally got the cases which actually _needed_ treatment.

"Ethan," Sam calls across the work station near cubicles. "Want a coffee? I've just put the kettle on."

Looking a little surprised, Ethan nods and says, "um, yes, sure."

He follows Sam back into the – thankfully empty – break room in silence, shutting the door behind him. They wait for the kettle to boil, and Sam thinks through all of the possible ways that he could combine the twenty six letters of the alphabet to formulate something to say that sounds vaguely sincere. He's wholly sincere about his feelings about Cal Knight – and he hopes that Ethan's already seen that – but Sam's convinced that he needs to state unequivocally how he feels, and to clear the air with Ethan.

"Look," Sam begins slowly, pouring the boiling water into two mugs. "If you want to walk out at any point, do. I'm not doing this to try and hurt you."

Ethan tenses, and Sam can tell that, maybe, he needs to work on how he approaches a difficult subject. First with Connie, now with Ethan – he's not having a good day, is he?

"I just want to say that I'm truly, truly sorry about what happened to your brother," Sam continues quickly, before Ethan can say anything. "He was a good doctor and a great colleague and, I imagine, the sort of brother that you can't just forget."

"You could say that," Ethan mutters, taking the coffee that Sam offers him.

"Yes, as Medical Director, I disagreed with his actions – but as a doctor, I was rooting for him, because he reminded me of myself ten years ago," Sam says. "And I hope that the police manage to get what they need on Scott, Ethan, I really do. Because he shouldn't be walking around the streets a free man."

Ethan considers Sam for a moment, clearly pondering whether or not he thinks that Sam's being sincere. Ah, how time has changed. Ten years ago – hell, even in America – it was known that Sam was the sincerest man of all. Interesting to see how a suit can change word associations…

"Thank you for saying that," Ethan says, evidently accepting that Sam's being genuine. "It doesn't bring him back, but at least I don't have to think about how Cal would hate me working with you." He snorts a little. "Cal would. It's funny to say – because a year ago, I _wanted_ him dead. I wanted him to hurt so badly…and now he's gone, I wish I'd never spent a day without him in the years I had with him."

Sam nods, taking a sip of the coffee he made. It's not his best, he'll put it that way.

"I know that there's a lot of people around here who want to help you, Ethan," Sam says, looking directly at Ethan. "But if there's ever anything you want to talk about with someone who you don't know as well, I'm always here. And so's Connie. She's not as scary as everyone thinks she is."

They talk a little more, about Holby and Cal and how those who die never really leave the ones they love, before Ethan's patient's test results come back and Sam figures that he should probably go back and do some work before Elle takes advantage of her quasi-Clinical Lead powers to fire him. For real, unlike with Connie.

.x.

"Ready?" Sam asks Connie as he looks across at her, shutting the ignition off at the same time.

She smiles back, though a little tentatively, and nods. "Ready."

She gets out of the car first, an overnight bag in hand, and hesitantly walks up the last bit of driveway to Sam's front door. It's a nice house, she recognises vaguely; he's got a bit more class than in his registrar days. But the only thing on her mind, really, is Grace and the question of whether she'll accept the fact that her parents are dating.

"Grace, I'm back – and mum's here, too," Sam calls as he opens the front door. "She's probably in the living room, let's go straight through" he adds in a whisper to Connie.

They head through, Connie shedding her coat and bag on the hallway floor, and Grace smiles up at them both. She is, as Sam predicted, in the living room, playing on a tablet, though she throws this aside.

"Hi Mum, Dad," she says slowly. There are still a few words she struggles to start saying, though Connie can absolutely see the improvement in her condition since the early days after the accident. "You're both back at the same time?"

Connie nods, smiling a little as she walks across the room to take a seat on the sofa next to Grace. "Yes, I finished early and went to pick your dad up from work - Doctor Gardner runs a very tight ship, but I managed to get him out a bit early."

Grace looks amazed. " _You_ finished first?" she repeats, incredulous. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to spend time with you, Gracie," Connie replies immediately. "Just because we're not going to the park doesn't mean I don't want to be here."

For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Grace initiates physical contact with Connie, giving her a brief hug. "I'm happy you're here."

As she looks across at Sam, Connie can't say that she's felt happier – or less alone – in ten years.

.

They're not keen to interrupt the plans Grace has made for her and Connie, so both Connie and Sam decide to wait until after dinner to tell their daughter about them. They watch a few episodes of Parks and Recreation and play a few rounds of Hangman before Sam slips out to the kitchen to prepare the chicken fajitas.

Then they eat and make it through a full family pack of fajitas, because "I haven't eaten since breakfast with you, Gracie," Sam says, causing Connie to shoot him a glare, because he not only ate a full pizza but managed to eat half of her pasta, too.

"Gracie," Sam begins, a little hesitantly, as they move back to the living room. "Your mum and I have something we want to talk to you about."

Grace looks a little nervous, and looks to her mum. "Mum, what's going on? You're…you're not leaving, are you?"

Connie can't stop the tears welling in her eyes as she reaches across and wraps an arm around Grace, pulling her close. "No, Gracie, I'm not going anywhere…the opposite, in fact." She opens her mouth and tries to continue, but the words don't come out.

"A few weeks ago…your mum and I had a conversation, Grace," Sam continues, looking as though he's grasping for the right words, the right way to phrase this. "We realised that, though things have been difficult for the past few years, that's because we've not been trying. We let the bad words build between us, and we ignored everything else. This wasn't fair on you, of course, but it wasn't fair on us either…because, underneath all of those bad things that we said, we like each other."

Grace looks confused. " _Like_ each other?" she repeats. "Like, _like like_ each other?"

Connie blushes a little. "Yes, sweetheart, that's what your dad's trying – and failing – to explain," she says, breaking eye contact with Sam to look down at Grace. "It's complicated, which I know isn't what you want to hear, but even though things haven't always been good between us, that's because it got easier to just argue about everything than agree on almost anything."

As she speaks, Sam moves closer, dropping to a crouch in front of Grace. He takes her hand and wraps it between both of his, looking intently into her face.

"Grace, you know that I – that _we_ – would never do anything that could hurt you," he says gently. "But we've thought this through and we want you to know that we're seeing each other, because you're the most important thing to both of us. And I really like – _like like_ – your mum. She's everything that you are and everything that I want to be…and we can see a future together, the three of us."

Grace breaks eye contact with him to turn back to her mother, who nods, smiling a little wider.

"But, as your dad said, sweetheart, we'd never do anything that you're not comfortable with," Connie continues. "So if you don't want us to…see each other, that's fine. I know that this is a lot for you to process, so if you want some time, we don't mind…and you can ask us anything you want. Your opinion matters to both of us, and we promise that we'll respect whatever you want us to do."

Without hesitating, Grace asks, "does he make you happy?"

"He does."

"Happier than Jacob did?" It's a fair question, and, once again, Connie doesn't need to hesitate to answer.

"Happier – and like your dad can, I can see the future with him. I couldn't with Jacob."

Grace turns back to her dad.

"Does she make you happy?"

"She does."

"Happier than Emma?"

"One hundred percent yes."

Connie looks across at Sam, her heart opening to the fact that it seems incredibly unlikely that their daughter would ask them to stay apart.

"And if it doesn't last?" Grace doesn't ask either of them in particular. "What happens then? Do you go back to hating each other and putting me in the middle? Because I don't want that. Please."

"I promise that we will never do that again," Connie says firmly. "You will never be put in the middle again, no matter what happens between us. You will always be the priority."

"Dad?"

Sam hesitates, and then nods, his eyes expressing his sincerity. "No matter what happens between your mum and me, Grace, I promise that I will respect her and you even if we don't stay together."

Grace appears to think about it for a moment, before nodding, a smile creeping onto her face. "Okay, well, as long as you're not _too_ embarrassing, I think I can handle it," she says. "And you don't go to the cinema together to see any film I want to see, because that's not fair and then I'll be very cross."

Connie laughs a little as she pulls Grace in closer. "I promise that we will never go and see any film that you might want to see."

Sam stands up suddenly from the awkward crouch in front of Grace, jumping onto the sofa to her other side and putting his arm around both of them.

"Except maybe Despicable Me 3," Sam says slyly. "Those minions are just too scary for a little girl…"

"Dad, you are _not_ going to see Despicable Me without me!" Grace cries out. Then her tone turns soft, gentle, as she adds, "but I'm glad you're happy, Mum. And Dad, if you don't go and see Despicable Me."

Sam looks across at Connie over the top of Grace's head and smiles, the smile reflecting everything that Connie's feeling: unadulterated joy, pride, and excitement of the prospect of their future.

"For you, I'd do anything," Sam says in response to Grace.

But Connie's well aware that he's talking to her, too.

* * *

Please let me know your thoughts! I really appreciate all feedback


	4. Discoveries

Chapter Four:

 **Thank you all so, so much for your reviews; I appreciate each and every one of them.**

* * *

It's seven thirty in the morning, and Connie Beauchamp walks out of the lift on the seventh floor of Holby City Hospital, a huge file tucked within her right arm. Though she's not working with Jac today – she's returning to the ED for the first time in a week, thankfully – she forgot to leave this folder up here last night.

Well, she mentally corrects herself, she didn't _forget_ – she just hadn't finished reading the final page when she left yesterday. The prospect of seeing Grace for the first time in a few days had been too much to keep Connie focused on aortic aneurysms…well, that, or the fact that Sam and herself had told their daughter of their semi-permanent romantic status.

Grace took it better – and more easily – than Connie had expected, she has to admit. Her main concern had been whether it made her parents happy…and if they could deal with one another if they split up again. They had reassured her that, honestly, they'd be able to cope being civil to one another if this didn't work out long-term, and that had been enough for her.

It's definitely a weight off of her mind, to be honest. Now, they can still go out for meals together, without Grace, but they don't have to lie about where they're going. And they can do things together, properly, as a family. Like last night, except every night.

The only time Connie regretted leaving work ten minutes early was when she, at one in the morning, was still awake, finishing reading the document.

"Come to bed," Sam had grumbled, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Finish it in the morning."

But she hadn't, because she knew that she wouldn't wake up any earlier to do it, and she wants Jac to read through her proposals today, so that they can actually start advancing the work that needs to be put in.

"Connie, what are you doing up here?" Connie hears a voice behind her as she walks towards the consultants' office. Jac. "I thought you were down in the ED today?"

Connie turns, attempting to plaster a smile onto her face, and nods. "Surprisingly, I do know the difference between two departments, Jac," she replies, keeping her tone as light as possible. "I just wanted to drop my proposal off with you this morning, so you have ample time to read it. I wouldn't want you to feel left out of the loop, being Clinical Lead and all."

Jac lifts her hands up, palms out, and takes a half-step back, almost in surrender. "I'm sorry for asking," she says, her voice cheerful and definitely not reflecting what she's saying. "I'm surprised that you were working last night though…" she trails off deliberately, leaving Connie to ask why.

Connie bites. "Why's that?"

Grinning, Jac explains. "Well, you had a _hot_ date at lunch by all accounts, and then you left ten minutes early! I mean, ten minutes! For Connie Beauchamp, that's like you barely managed to do half a shift – which, really, you sort of only managed, as you went to lunch for so long—"

Connie cuts her off. "I left early – barely – to spend time with Grace. Not that it's really any of your business."

Jac fixes her with a knowing look – though what she can know, Connie dreads to imagine – before winking. She then reaches out to take the file from Connie. "Whatever you say, Mrs B, whatever you say," she continues cheerfully. "I'll take that from you now, save you walking a little bit…I imagine you're very tired after last night…have a nice day, down with your abscesses and vomiting babies."

Before Connie has chance to reply, Jac's walked off, hair swishing left and right. She turns back, though, and Connie's not surprise; though she's already had the last word, Jac's always prepared for more.

"Are you _sure_ it wasn't the nurse?" Jac asks, her expression thoughtful.

"Certain," Connie replies frostily, fixing Jac with an ice-cold stare. Nice to know that she's still got it.

"Bummer," Jac adds, heaving a sigh as she finishes speaking. "Well, I'll figure it out soon. In a bit, Connie."

Connie dreads to think of the comments she's going to get from Jac Naylor in particular, the day that her relationship with Sam becomes common knowledge.

* * *

.x.

Twenty minutes later, and Connie's sitting in her office with a hot cup of coffee to her left and an unnervingly large pile of paperwork to her right. Something Sam had mentioned to her in passing last night had made her think that she'd be expecting to see a little paperwork leftover – as, despite the previous day being Dylan and Elle's scheduled "paperwork day", Sam mentioned seeing Dylan on the department floor more often than not – but definitely not this much. It's as if Dylan's started to read a few files, signed off a few bits and bobs but then gotten bored, moving onto the next file, and the next file, before not even doing that. His pen is still lying on top of an open file, indicating that it took exactly five files for him to give up on the notion of pretending to do paperwork.

She doesn't even look at her computer screen for over an hour, and she's sure that the emails are racking up, but she has to get this paperwork sorted first. If she doesn't, it'll stress her out for most of the day. Thankfully, the blinds are drawn, meaning that none of the doctors come and disturb her; she's not certain that she wouldn't give a sarcastic response if one of them tried.

Then, around nine am, there's a knock at the door, and she looks up to see Sam standing with his face pressed to the glass pane.

Connie can't help but snort a little as she waves him in; he's absolutely, one hundred percent a child…but he's hers. Probably, anyway.

"Hey," Sam begins as he closes the door behind him quietly. "You left early this morning – you didn't even wake me up."

She takes a sip of her now very cold coffee, makes a face, and sets the cup down. "Yes, I know, I didn't want to wake you up when I kept you awake last night," she explains, making eye contact with Sam. "I had to drop the proposal off with Jac, and I wanted to do it early, so that she has enough time to read it."

He smiles a little, taking a few more steps into the office. "I didn't get to kiss you good morning," he says, sounding a little hurt. "I could kiss you now, to make up for it, though…I mean it's still morning, and _very_ early. And the blinds are drawn."

Connie shakes her head, standing up. She notices Sam's smile slides straight off his face, and he looks confused.

"We don't exist inside this building, remember?" She reminds him gently, walking around the desk and stopping a few centimetres in front of him. "It's going to be hard enough working with you and remembering that we're only work colleagues _without_ then kissing you in my office at every opportunity."

"Work colleagues with a _daughter_ ," Sam adds.

"With a daughter," she agrees, "but work colleagues who ostensibly hate one another, and take every opportunity to undermine the other. How is it going to look when you _don't_ do that, and then I still take you into the office?"

He nods slowly. "You have a point."

"I know," Connie replies, proudly. "But, I mean, we can have _lunch_ together. And I might have _slightly_ amended Dylan's rota so that you finish half an hour after me, so we can leave together."

Sam cocks an eyebrow as he closes the gap between them, pressing his body against Connie's. "Why am I finishing half an hour later then?" He leans over and tucks a piece of Connie's hair behind her ear. "Is _this_ allowed in the workplace, Mrs Beauchamp?"

"So that I have half an hour to finish what I'm doing before you start moaning at me that I'm late and I need to leave," Connie explains, maintaining eye contact with Sam. She loves his cheeky expression, just as she loves the feeling of his hand against her cheek. "I suppose it's acceptable for a work colleague to sort my hair out…maybe. Just this once. And you should probably go before people wonder where you are." She loses her train of thought as his fingers linger on her cheek slightly, and she can taste his minty breath through the air. Still, this is progress. Last week, he managed to reduce her to being speechless on more than one occasion.

Sam takes a step back, and smiles a little. "See you soon, Con," he says in parting, walking backwards towards the door. He waves with his right hand, his arm barely moving. "By the way, did you say _Dylan_ 's doing the rotas?"

Connie nods. "Yes, it's what he wanted in exchange for taking over some responsibility. Why?"

Sam sticks his lower jaw out, evidently thinking. "Hm, that makes sense why we're hardly ever here at the same time," he says slowly. "See you later, Con…sorry, Mrs Beauchamp. Got to be professional."

* * *

.x.

Five metres away from the exchange between Connie and Sam, Louise Tyler is engrossed in analysing a picture which appeared on her Facebook newsfeed late the night before.

"Look at it!" she says, pulling Max by the arm so that he's close enough to the screen to see what she can see. "I _thought_ they were a bit closer than normal…"

"What, by the fact that she's not bitten his head off in the last week and he hasn't tried to sack her?" Max replies. "Don't think that that's the greatest basis for a relationship, Lou."

Louise rolls her eyes, and points to the picture on the screen. It's a selfie taken by Grace the night before, with her parents on either side of her. They're all looking at the camera, smiles all around, and though there's no physical contact between Connie and Sam, there's none of the usual tension the ED staff are used to seeing.

" _Look_ at it," she insists. "And anyway, they have a kid together! They must have liked each other at _some_ point before work got in the way."

"Where did you get this picture anyway?" Max asks, curious. "Seems a bit strange that Mrs Beauchamp would let a selfie appear on the hospital network, don't you think?"

Louise blushes. "It's on Grace's social media."

Another voice joins the conversation: Dylan. "I don't know about you, but I find it a little creepy that you're friends with an eleven year old girl – who you're not even related to – on social media."

"Yeah, well, I'm friends with Sam and he got tagged in it," Louise explains. "You look, Dylan. What do you see?"

Dylan takes the briefest, most cursory glance at the picture before rolling his eyes. "I see a girl, our Clinical Lead, and a prat. If Connie really does take him back, she's less astute than I had given her credit to be."

Louise sniggers. "I think it's cute, really. She deserves a bit of happiness – everything seems to be going well for her at the moment."

Little do they know that Sam, having just stepped out of Connie's office, has heard nearly every word of this conversation.

.

Sam's very, very well aware of Connie's desire to keep their relationship under wraps - it's something that he, too, would quite like for the moment. For whilst it would be nice to have the option to spend more time with her, the blurring between their personal and professional lives would be dangerous so early on in the relationship. If they're serious about this being long-term, they need to make sure that they like each other enough _outside_ of work to be able to cope with working together. Plus, Connie's absence from the department would mean that _he_ would be the only one dealing with the consequences of an early reveal…

He's suddenly surprised that she hasn't decided to go public immediately.

However, it's suddenly clear to him that this is a golden opportunity to do two things: to sow seeds of confusion among the ED staff regarding the nature of his relationship with Connie, and to play a bit of a prank on his new…girlfriend? Is that what he would introduce her as? Or his partner?

"I've noticed that Connie seems a bit different recently," Sam says as he approaches the workstation, noticing with amusement how quickly Louise clicks her mouse. "Have any of you guys noticed anything?"

Dylan fixes him with a stare. "I think that _Mrs Beauchamp's_ personal life isn't anything to do with us," he says coolly. "I would have thought you would have been the sort of person to shun idle gossip. Maybe do some work, instead." He walks off, leaving Louise, Max and Sam standing together around the station.

Louise looks intrigued. "She seems happy, doesn't she?"

"Well, of what we've seen of her," Max adds. "Spends most of her time upstairs, nowadays, doesn't she?"

Sam smiles a little. "Yes, she does. And who else spends a lot of time upstairs?"

"You?" Louise clearly can't stop herself saying. "Or, I mean, you _did_ , so I guess you know who else does?" she adds sheepishly.

"Jac Naylor?" Max supplies. "Guy Self? Patients? I wheel a few patients up every now and then, sure they're having a party up there or something."

" _Henrik Hanssen_ ," Sam says, stressing the CEO's name. "He spends a lot of time up there, doesn't he? And I hear he asked Connie to take the job upstairs – I wonder what's going on between them…"

"Why don't you just ask her?" Louise suggests. "You have a kid together, I'm sure you can ask her if she's dating the CEO. But I'm not sure that he's her type."

Sam snorts. Of course Henrik isn't her type: he's too much…not Sam.

"He is," Sam insists, "I mean look, when did he ever visit the ED when Nick Jordan or Zoe Hanna were in charge? And now he's down here for the fourth time in two weeks…I'm sure they're together," he presses, noting how fortuitously the man in question has made his way downstairs. Surely it can't be good, if he's come down in person…but Sam's sure that Connie will tell him later, anyway.

Louise looks as if she's persuaded by his argument, and Sam has to laugh a little. He could run rings around the established rumour mill in this place.

"But what about you?" Louise demands. "Don't you like her?"

It takes everything Sam has to muster up a semi-serious expression, and lie through his teeth. "Absolutely not. Too controlling for me. _Terrible_ taste in music. And she could never be as beautiful as Louise Tyler, of course." He shoots Louise his most sultry look, impressed with the results it achieves.

"So Henrik Hanssen, huh," Max says, having pondered the thought for a while. "Huh. Never really put them together, but I guess it makes sense. I'll update the bookmakers, let them know the change in the odds."

Sam's thrown for a moment, until he realises that Max is talking about a betting syndicate of some sort. "What are you betting on?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant as he fiddles with a piece of paper on top of the station.

Louise and Max exchange looks for a moment before simultaneously shrugging. "Might as well tell him," Louise says.

"We're betting on Mrs B's next love interest," Max says. "And you've just take a nosedive in the stakes, I'm sorry to say."

Sam's intrigued – and also extremely amused. This is exactly the sort of thing that he would have been involved in up on Darwin, if it wasn't for the fact that _he_ was the love interest. It's also exactly the sort of thing that Connie would hate: her private life becoming the domain of her professional one. This conundrum is why they had always been doomed to fail, before…but not anymore.

"So who are the contenders?" Sam asks. "And no, before you ask, I won't tell Con…nie. Er, yes, no I won't tell her. I think she'd think it was my idea and murder me."

Max grins, though he still looks a little suspicious. "Alright, I'll tell you – but _I'll_ murder you if you sprag, got it?"

"Yeah, got it?" Louise adds.

"Got it," Sam confirms.

"So, there's yourself, um…Jacob Masters to make a return, he's currently on strong odds I think," Max says, squinting. Sam assumes this is to help him remember; it's not particularly bright in the department. "Now there's Hanssen…Jac Naylor's on the list, along with Guy Self…Dylan was for a minute until we all realised that that was _never_ going to happen…some old dude that she's friends with from Darwin – you'll know his name…"

"Elliott?" Sam scoffs. "You're joking; he's like her _dad_. He sends Grace birthday presents from grandad. It's quite sweet. He's definitely not worth betting on."

"I'll make sure to tell Noel that Elliott is the _most_ likely candidate so far," Max says, laughing. "And, I think that's it really."

"So…you haven't got a single contender from outside this hospital?" Sam confirms, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Wow. Maybe expand your horizons a bit – or expand the bets. Will she get with someone in the department, or will it be the hospital…or even _outside_ the hospital? I hear that she sometimes actually leaves Holby City Hospital, and men do exist outside, I'm led to believe."

Max looks contemplative. "Hm, maybe, thanks. Well, I think I best be off, patients to wheel. See you later, guys."

Sam turns away too, proud to have deflected the heat off of him as a potential suitor for Connie, in the department's eyes.

Little does he know that Max is actually shortening the odds of Sam Strachan and Connie Beauchamp.

* * *

.x.

There's another knock at the door, mere minutes after Sam left, and Connie looks up, a little irritated. She's not even due to start on the rota for another ten minutes – surely there's at least one other doctor around?

But then she sees Henrik Hanssen standing there, and her heart sinks. It's rare for Henrik to actually make his way downstairs to the ED – he usually sends for Connie, as he did a few weeks previously. Something either very good (or very bad) has happened.

Or maybe he's heard about her and Sam, and has come to warn her about inter-workplace relations. This wouldn't surprise her; Henrik knows _everything_ , and is usually about ten steps ahead of everyone else in the building. If anyone suspects anything, it's Henrik.

"Henrik, what a nice surprise," Connie says drily as the CEO steps into her office. "How strange, for you to actually visit the lowly depths of the ED."

Henrik doesn't smile, merely nods, as he enters the room and closes the door. "It's not a social call, Connie," he replies, looking around at the room and noticing the drawn blinds. "Is there any particular reason that _all_ of your blinds are drawn…at nine in the morning?"

She stares back, icily, her mind not even going to Sam Strachan. "I work more efficiently when people aren't gawping into my office," she explains, dropping her pen. "Henrik, I'm very busy this morning, so if you could just get to the point of your visit…"

He drops into the visitor seat, and removes an envelope from his jacket, placing it on Connie's desk. "For you. I also received a copy of the letter."

Intrigued – and a little apprehensive – Connie reaches out for the envelope. Her heart sinks when she sees the postmark: the Hospital Inspections Team.

"Ah," she murmurs, gaining a little clarity into the cloak and dagger situation. This can't be good.

She opens the envelope, pulls out the letter inside, and reads:

 _This is a formal notification of inspection of the Emergency Department at Holby City Hospital. This inspection is a full-day inspection, considering all aspects of patient care, doctor professionalism and the efficiency of the teamwork. It will also assess the leadership of the department, given the series of changes in the role of Clinical Lead over the past year._

 _This inspection will occur Monday 7_ _th_ _August 2017._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Michael Turner_

 _Chief Inspector for the NHS_

Connie's heart sinks. Whilst she's never minded having inspections of her departments – they're always in an excellent state – this is clearly a surprise inspection. A quick mental calculation suggests that there shouldn't be another inspection down here for another year at _least_. So what exactly has gone wrong – and what possible reason would the Chief Inspector have for wanting to inspect her ED at such short notice?

"Well, this certainly throws a spanner in the works," Connie murmurs, looking up from the letter to Hanssen. "I'll call Jac and let her know that I won't be upstairs for the rest of the week. I need to prepare for this, and work out exactly _why_ we've managed to get an early inspection."

Henrik shakes his head. "No. You will still go upstairs tomorrow to discuss the proposal. You have a tight deadline that you have set yourself, Connie, and I will not see you fail."

The ice is replaced by anger as Connie throws the letter onto the desk. She shoots Henrik a stern look of disgust, shaking her head

"No, Henrik," she argues back. "I told you that, should my work on Darwin affect the Emergency Department, I would return immediately. And look, in a three week absence, we've managed to get ourselves an inspection notice! I cannot – and I will not – let my department suffer, just to maintain Darwin's Centre of Excellence status!"

Henrik shakes his head. "I have given you your orders, Mrs Beauchamp – and I insist that you carry them out. It's up to you how you fit in your work in the ED around Darwin, as I _do_ appreciate that you need to be here more for the next couple of days. Perhaps working the weekend?" She can tell that he's enjoying this opportunity to throw back her negotiations in her face – but unfortunately, she can tell that he's right.

There's no way that she can't prepare for this inspection over the weekend. All she's thankful for is the fact that she didn't arrange anything solid with Grace, because she would absolutely have had to cancel.

"Right, well," Connie begins, thinking through things in her head. "That doesn't impact on the fact that this issue has arisen _after_ my departure, Henrik. Things can't continue as they are."

"And once again, Mrs Beauchamp, you are _wrong_ ," Henrik retorts, setting another piece of paper on Connie's desk. This time, it isn't enclosed in an envelope, and this time, it's addressed directly to Henrik Hanssen. "As the inspection was triggered on the day you _accepted_ my offer to work with Jac Naylor, not after. It appears that Doctor Keogh's inability to build a strong patient rapport has come back to bite us. Imagine calling the son of a hospital inspector a _liar_."

Connie snatches up the piece of paper and reads through the lengthy complaint, feeling her blood boil more and more with every sentence. It's less the details of the complaint – or even the fact that this happened with the son of a medical inspector – but more that Dylan, someone she has trusted with her department, didn't feel that he should inform her of the situation.

"Very well," Connie concedes, looking back at Henrik. "Our arrangement still stands. Now, I have a lot to arrange, so if you wouldn't mind…"

"Oh, of course," Henrik replies, though with none of his usual amusement. "I hope you sort this, Connie. I couldn't imagine losing you."

Only as he walks out of the office, does Connie realise that a poor inspection result means that she loses her job – and her life at Holby City Hospital.

* * *

.x.

She gives herself a moment to collect herself after Henrik Hanssen leaves her office, and then Connie Beauchamp strides out of the office, on the hunt for Doctor Keogh. She's not sure if she can keep her temper with him, but at least she'll be able to keep it in until they reach her office.

"Ah, Mrs Beauchamp," she hears Sam call after her, but she ignores him. She doesn't want to – or need to – talk to him. In the workplace, they don't exist. In the workplace, she is, at best, closed off and cool and professional with him. At worst, she's sarcastic and blunt. "Nice to see you on the shop floor."

Connie turns around, exasperated. " _Mr Strachan_ ," she stresses, "do you not have patients to see? I'm sure I don't pay you to just _stand around_." She knows that her expression is icy and cold and part of her regrets it with him, but he needs to learn when to leave her alone. And that's at work.

He looks a little confused. "But…Are you okay?"

And now she's actually infuriated at him, as well as with Doctor Keogh, because Sam Strachan seems incapable of separating their personal and professional lives! Three weeks ago, he wouldn't have asked her if she was okay, so why is he now?

"If you do not see a patient within the next _thirty seconds_ , I will have you disciplined for a poor work ethic," Connie spits out. "Good day, Mr Strachan."

.

She finally finds Dylan in cubicles, and summons him to her office. He doesn't resist or challenge her, but follows, meekly for Dylan. Connie waits until he's seated and the door is closed – and nobody is loitering outside – before she begins her tirade.

"So I understand that you treated a Sean Taylor three weeks ago," she begins, already pure ice. It's good to know that three weeks of being open and gentle with Sam Strachan hasn't weakened her ability to make men quake.

Dylan swallows and then nods. "Yes. He came in with a sprain, having not bothered to go to his GP or Minor Injuries Units – or, it seems, his father. He was rude, critical and had absolutely no reason to be in the department."

"He was a _seventeen year old boy_ , Dylan! Of course he's going to be rude and critical, regardless of who his father is!" Connie explodes. She had expected to last a little longer – she hadn't expected Dylan to go straight in on the offensive. Once again, she overestimated Doctor Keogh. "The complaint is one issue…the fact that Michael Taylor is _leading_ an inspection of this department on _Monday_ is quite completely another!"

Dylan's face blanches. "Ah. I understand."

This just infuriates Connie further. "Anything you want to say in your defence? Or is _I understand_ enough for you, Doctor Keogh? Would you like to be the one to tell the team that we have to undergo an unnecessary inspection simply because you couldn't handle a hormonal teenager?"

"I…I'm sorry for not dealing with it properly – or telling you," Dylan mutters. "I should have let you know."

Connie softens infinitesimally. "You should have," she agrees. "I could have prepared, rather than having three and a half days to prepare for an inspection."

"I'll help, as much as I can," Dylan immediately offers. Connie's pleasantly surprised, though she's not entirely sure how much she wants his help. "I'm truly sorry, I didn't think that it would come to this."

Slowly, Connie nods. "Very well. I'm willing to overlook this transgression. But mark my words, Dylan, if we fail this inspection…I can't guarantee that I can protect you."

"Thank you," Dylan mutters, barely audibly. "I'll help with paperwork – I should have done it anyway. Or anything you need, really."

"No," Connie says immediately. "I've seen your paperwork. Cover Mr Strachan's shift and send him in here, now. At least _he_ can do paperwork to the standard I expect."

Dylan takes this as his cue to leave and walks towards the door, pausing to say, "I am sorry, Connie."

"I know," she replies off-hand, looking to her computer screen. "I just hope that nobody loses out because you couldn't keep your temper."

* * *

.x.

Half an hour later, there's another knock at the door. Thankfully, Dylan must have told people to not disturb her, because, despite a flurry of activity, nobody has disturbed her.

This time, it's Sam again.

She softens a little as she beckons for him to come in. She was too harsh on him before; he didn't know that she was having a bad day, and he only wanted to help. But, she counters, they're not supposed to exist in Holby City Hospital. He shouldn't care if she's having a bad day. He needs to pretend that he doesn't.

"You wanted to see me?" Sam asks, his voice cold.

"Yes, close the door," Connie replies quietly, unable to muster enough anger to speak more loudly. "Sam, I'm sorry about before," she says as soon as the door is shut. "It's turned into a bad day, and…"

"And I shouldn't have asked you if you were okay because we don't exist inside the hospital," Sam finishes for her, moving across the office to take a seat. "Yeah, I know. You didn't need to bite my head off, though."

"Read this, and then you'll see why," Connie retorts, handing Sam the inspection letter.

"What?" Sam says as he reaches the date of the inspection. "That's Monday! Surely Hanssen can't expect you to…"

"Yes he can and he does – the complaint came in on the day I accepted his offer, so it doesn't invalidate our agreement," Connie explains. "I am sorry, Sam, about before. But you need to understand that our personal and professional lives are separate. When we're here, we need to act like the last month hasn't happened: we're still at one another's throats, okay?"

Sam raises an eyebrow. "So why exactly am I in here? As normally, you'd shout at me with the door open, at the very least."

Connie shrugs. "I didn't call you in here to shout at you," she says. "Plus, I owed you an apology."

"Apology accepted," Sam replies. "I take it that this means you won't be home much over the weekend…and you won't be leaving on time today."

She smiles a rueful smile. "Accurate. Though you won't be leaving on time today, either. I need you to help me with the paperwork, and do a complete audit on every filing system in the department. We are _not_ failing on paperwork."

Sam turns unsmiling. "Why me?" She can tell he's biting his tongue, that he wants to add something; little does she know that he _wants_ to tell her that her staff are betting on them.

"Because I trained you to complete paperwork to the highest standard," she reminds him. "And, although Dylan offered, I don't think I could keep up an icy atmosphere for a full day; that's too much effort."

"And I take it we're not having lunch together?" Sam confirms.

"If lunch counts as a sandwich in here, then yes, we can," Connie replies gently. "But, Sam, I'm sorry…but we're going to have to be on-hold until this inspection is over. I can't jeopardise the department."

Sam nods. "I understand – I'd do the same," he adds, but Connie doesn't believe him. "I'm still going to make you come home, though. You can't work for four days straight…I'll make sure you look after yourself."

She smiles a half-smile, but it reaches her eyes. She can't stay mad at him; it's impossible, even here. "Thank you. Now, get started on the paperwork – do it just the way I like it!"

* * *

.x.

At eleven forty, Connie steps out of her office and addresses the gathered team. There's one or two missing – Sam, who's still in the office, Lily and Nurse Johnson who are in recess, and a few of the agency nurses. But the bulk of her team who are working today are here – and the ones who are day off have already been told.

"As some of you may already know, we have received official notice of an inspection for Monday morning," Connie begins, deliberately not looking at Dylan. "Now, before you start complaining, why we are being inspected isn't the issue. We need to pull together and ensure that we're all on our toes and prepared for Monday. We are a _team_ , and we can do this – together. Doctors Gardner, Keogh, Hardy, please come and see me today – I've had to amend the rota slightly, to ensure that we will succeed. Thank you, all."

Though she does her best to sound confident, Connie's not entirely sure what the future will bring for her department – and whether throwing herself back into work will destroy all progress she's made with Grace…

* * *

 **Please let me know your thoughts! I'll hopefully update early next week.**


	5. Inspections

Chapter Five:

 **Thanks once again to everyone who's left comments, etc! I love chatting to you all - if you don't have an account on here but have one on tumblr, you're always welcome to message me at conniebaechamp!**

 **I'm off on a mini holiday till Friday, but I'll try and update when I get back**

* * *

"You didn't come over last night," Sam says without preamble as he enters Connie's office. It's early on Saturday morning – too early for any form of a rush of patients – and Connie can't remember what life was like when she wasn't tired.

Stifling a yawn, Connie shakes her head, simultaneously motioning for Sam to shut the door. The department might be half-empty, but you never know who's lurking – and she has a strange suspicion that there's some sort of bet syndicate around her love life. Not that she's particularly bothered at the moment: it won't cause them to fail an inspection, so it can wait. Anything non-essential can wait.

"I know," Connie replies as she finishes yawning. "I rang Grace to let her know – I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

Sam nods, but she's aware that he's a little…disappointed. "She was looking forward to it."

She can't tell if the guilt-tripping is deliberate or not, but she definitely feels its effects. "I know, I told her that I'd make it up to her next weekend," Connie responds, looking away from Sam and back down to the pile of paperwork in front of her. It just seems never ending, despite Sam's assistance on Thursday. "I know what you're going to say, but I can't help it, Sam. If the department fails, I lose my job – and do you really think that Grace wants me around twenty four seven?"

Sam smiles a little and shakes his head. "I think she'd hate that," he concedes, and pulls something out from behind his back. "I'm not trying to guilt you, Connie. I know that this weekend, the department is the priority. I'm just worried about you: when was the last time you slept?"

He walks across to her desk and sets a cup of coffee down, and Connie could let their rules be damned and jump over the desk and devour him. She almost does, when he produces one of her favourite breakfast muffins, too.

"You're too good for me, did you know that?" Connie murmurs as she picks up the muffin in one hand and the coffee in the other, unable to decide which one to start with. "You even removed the wrapper for me…" she trails off, biting into the muffin. Hunger always wins.

Sam smiles wider. "I know how much you hate having to peel a wrapper off to eat something, Con," he explains, taking a seat opposite her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Connie shakes her head, tries to speak between bites of muffin and fails. She waits until she's finished the muffin before replying, "no, it's fine, honestly. If I don't do it, I'll just forget that someone else has."

"But you'll be over for dinner tonight?" Sam asks. "You can't work solidly for another three days, Con. You're already shattered."

She shrugs. "I'll do my best. But don't tell Grace – I'm not making any promises."

Sam stands up and walks around the desk, pressing a swift kiss to Connie's forehead. "Don't grumble, nobody's around to see," he says quickly, pre-empting her protest. "I'll see you later, Con."

He's halfway to the door before she calls out, "I'll have lunch at twelve! Whatever you're having."

Laughing a little, Sam replies, "only if you eat with me."

She agrees.

* * *

.x.

It's almost a carbon copy the next morning.

"Yes, yes, I left without waking you up," Connie says crabbily as soon as Sam enters her office. "I realised that I hadn't saved a document, and this computer shuts down randomly at the best of times, so I had to come and save it."

Sam's brow furrows as he closes the door. "How many hours sleep did you have, Connie?" He demands. "As the earliest you went to sleep is two. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

She rolls her eyes. "Sam, I've worked a week straight with minimal sleep before. I'm sure that four days of occasional work isn't going to destroy me."

"But it might break Grace's heart," Sam says quietly. "She thought you were going to be there for breakfast. Guess she was wrong, again."

"Don't use emotional blackmail, Sam," Connie spits back. "I've told her about this inspection and what it means for the department – for my job. And what it means for yours."

"What do you mean?"

Connie laughs a little. "If I go, how long do you think it's going to be before they find an excuse to get rid of you? Elle's not your biggest fan, and Dylan can't stand you. No, we'll _both_ be unemployed. So I'm sorry, but I'd rather miss one breakfast with Grace to ensure that we still have jobs come Monday. I'll be there Tuesday."

Sam looks exasperated. "That's the most convoluted logic I've ever heard to explain why you left my house at four in the morning to come to an Emergency Department, Connie. Take a step back. The department isn't going to fail."

"Famous last words," Connie mutters. "Now, unless you're here to help with paperwork, can you get out? I need to concentrate."

"Fine."

* * *

.x.

The morning of the inspection rolls around, and Sam walks into Connie's office unannounced at four in the morning.

"Please don't even try and pretend that you've been home," he says by means of greeting. "You're clearly exhausted."

Connie doesn't even look up as Sam sets a coffee and a box down on her desk. "I told you, Sam, to leave me alone," she grumbles. "When I turned my phone off, I didn't then expect you to come into the office."

Sam leans over the desk and gently touches her cheek, and she looks up at him. Just his touch makes her want to.

"Grace made you lunch," he says gently, gesturing to the box. "I figured you wouldn't have made anything yourself – and I'm right; you haven't even been home – but she wanted to make sure that you're looking after yourself. She said you sounded tired on the phone last night."

Connie can't even remember the conversation she had with Grace the night before. She had murmured along and agreed to whatever Grace had said – something about a reality TV show, and a musical concert. Maybe something about a Monday night dinner. The hours have blurred into one; even though it says that it's four in the morning, she's certain that it should only be about eleven pm. How is the department going to pass?

Her lips quirk a little at the fact that Grace has made her lunch. It's such a role-reversal; if she wasn't stressed, she'd be concerned.

"I'll eat every piece," Connie vows, not even concerned at the contents. "Why are you in this early, anyway? I'm sure I amended the rota to say seven, not four."

He's still touching her cheek, and she finds herself leaning into his touch slightly. She told him last week that they were on-hold until after the inspection, and she's missed him far more than she thought she would. Little things such as a conversation about the news, or hearing his view on Grace's favourite TV shows, she never thought she would miss. And it's strange, for a month ago, she would never have imagined even having a conversation with him about these things. Funny how knocking down a few barriers can change you.

"I'm worried about you," he admits. "You need to go home and sleep – or at least go to the on-call room."

And yet, at the same time as missing him more than anything, Connie's suddenly impatient and irritated. Well, she thinks, they never say that love is easy.

"Sam, the inspector could arrive at any point in the next _five hours_ – do you really think that I'm going to sleep?" she asks rhetorically. "Whilst it's lovely to see you, I'd appreciate it if you leave me alone, if you're going to say stupid things."

Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn't move away. "I'm really concerned. You've just worked twenty four hours without breaking off for sleep, and we both know you'll be here till six tonight. That's thirty six hours without stopping to breathe, Con. Even as Medical Director, I didn't do that."

She can't stop herself. She wishes she could, but she's too tired. "Well, you weren't exactly the world's most dedicated Medical Director, Sam," she snipes, pulling away from his hand and leaning back. She wipes her eyes, keen to make herself feel more awake – because whilst he's right, she's unwilling to admit it.

He steps back, almost jumps really, and she can see the hurt on his face. This time, the inability of Sam Strachan to disguise his feelings isn't a blessing – it's a curse. Because she can see just how much she's hurt him.

"Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt," Sam replies, stiffly. The hurt's gone now, replaced with a sort of angry-neutral. "Goodbye, Connie. Good luck."

He walks out and, for a moment, she wants to follow him. But, somehow, Connie manages to suppress her instincts and looks back down at the paperwork in front of her, wishing the day to be over.

* * *

.x.

"Ah, Mr Taylor," Connie says politely yet firmly, as she approaches the tall, bald man in the centre of a group of visitors. "Welcome to the Holby City Emergency Department. My name is Mrs Beauchamp, Clinical Lead. I hope you found your way here easily enough."

She holds her hand out for a handshake, and the older man responds, shaking firmly. They've met before, she thinks, at the private hospital in London that she worked at briefly a few years ago.

"Mrs Beauchamp," he replies, his voice cool. "Nice to see you again. Strange to see you down here in the Emergency Department."

She smiles slightly, professional as ever. "That's what every visitor has said so far," she replies, and Michael laughs a little. Result. "Well, would you like to get this started?"

"Indeed," Michael says, taking a step back now that the pleasantries are over. "I _would_ like to have a word with you at some point during the day regarding a separate – but related – issue."

"Just find me whenever you're ready," Connie replies, smiling slightly. "Well, I shall leave you to inspect my department, Mr Taylor. I hope you enjoy your experience."

* * *

.x.

There's no patients in resus, so Connie decides to take the opportunity to walk her department. She deliberately stays away from minors, away from Sam, because she can't let him distract her. Not today.

Instead, she walks passed cubicles, stumbling slightly on nothing. She's more tired than she's willing to admit; maybe, instead of a walk around, it's time for a coffee. Surely Michael Taylor can't fail her for taking care of herself…

So she walks into the staff room and clicks the kettle on, leaning back against the counter and closing her eyes. She could fall asleep right here, right now, and she wishes that she had matchsticks to prop her eyes open.

Her eyes fly open, however, when she hears the staff room door open and close.

"Ah, Connie," someone says. Elle. "I didn't realise you drank the frankly dire instant coffee in here."

Counting to five before replying, Connie says, "I was closest to here, made sense to stop."

It's only now that Connie realises that she's been in here longer than she thought; the kettle's boiled, and has already begun to cool.

"Here, let me," Elle interrupts, moving across the room swiftly to pick up the kettle before Connie can move. "There's a knack that, if you mix the milk and coffee granules in a certain way, it tastes _almost_ drinkable."

Connie lifts her hands and steps aside, unwilling to waste time and energy arguing about who makes a couple of cups of coffee. She does say thanks as Elle passes her the cup, before taking a large gulp. It doesn't taste great, but she's too tired to care – any caffeine is good caffeine at the moment.

"You seem tired," Elle says, none of her usual joviality in her voice.

"I am," Connie admits, frankly surprised at herself for confessing such a thing to _Elle_ , when she couldn't to Sam. "I'll sleep tonight though, I'm fine."

Elle shakes her head. "No, you're not fine," she counters, and Connie feels her blood begin to boil. An overreaction, perhaps, but she doesn't need to be told that she isn't fine.

"You're not fine, Connie, you're exhausted," Elle says firmly. "And whilst I know you can cope with that – and you can treat patients better than most of us can do after a full night's kip – that doesn't mean that you're fine. Have you seen Grace since you received the inspection notification?"

" _Yes_ ," Connie declares emphatically. "We had dinner…and anyway, the inspection will be over in a few hours, and I'll either return to working minimal hours, or I'll be unemployed. I don't need concern. I can do it."

"I _know_ you can do it, Connie – that's not the point!" Elle counters, raising her voice a little. Connie looks up at her, a little shocked; it's a side to Elle she hasn't seen before. "You don't _have_ to work so hard – we're going to pass, because you're a good leader and a good Clinical Lead. We can pick up the slack a little, so you can actually live a life…and get some sleep!"

There's nothing that Elle's said that Connie can argue with, really, so she doesn't. Instead she just drinks her coffee, wishes that it was from a barista rather than a kettle, and feels it flowing through her body. Only then does she realise how hungry she is – and how thankful she is that her daughter prepared her lunch.

"Well, I should get on…" Connie says as she sets her cup down, heading towards the door. "Thank you again for the coffee, Elle. It was needed."

"No problem – tell you the truth, I didn't realise _I_ needed one until Sam Strachan suggested that I go and make myself one," Elle confesses, setting her cup down too. "I mean, he was a _terrible_ Medical Director, but as a colleague, he's really rather good."

"Hmmm," Connie replies, walking out of the room and back onto her ward round.

Little did she know that the reason Sam prompted Elle to enter the staff room was because he knew exactly what Connie needed.

* * *

.x.

When the inspection team comes around, Dylan's in cubicles, finishing up with his patient. He gets a feeling that there's someone eavesdropping on his conversation but he ignores it, preferring – as usual – for the patient to be his priority. Whilst the inspection is, to an extent, his fault, he's unwilling to change his manner of patient care for the sake of a little additional bureaucracy.

As he walks out of the cubicle, however, his attitude changes. For standing right in front of him is Michael Taylor. Lead Inspector Michael Taylor. Father of Sean Taylor, probably the reason that he's here.

"Ah, if it isn't the infamous Doctor Keogh," Michael Taylor says, a sneer in his voice. "Nice to see that you _do_ occasionally have a decent bedside manner."

Dylan rolls his eyes and walks away, not trusting himself to answer without sarcasm. He promised Connie – he promised himself – that he wasn't going to do anything stupid that could put the department in jeopardy. And really, he doesn't want to.

"I'm talking to you!" Michael says, hurrying to keep up with Dylan. The other man's short, bald, and a little on the large side; his breathing becomes audible rather quickly as Dylan's pace and stride length increase with every step. "Oi! I made a complaint against you! You caused this inspection! You should at least have the decency to _talk_ and tell me why exactly you spoke to my son like that!"

Dylan pauses in his tracks suddenly, and notices with a little amusement that Michael carries on walking. He can't actually quite believe his ears; is this actually happening? For the first time, has someone confessed to doing something illegally (or, at the very least, immorally) without Dylan having to jump through hoops? And have they confessed in the full earshot of the full ED – without even realising that they've confessed?

"I'm sorry," Dylan begins, bluntly. "But have you just admitted that you organised this spot inspection _solely_ because I may or may not have told your son that he should have gone to his GP rather than waste this hospital's time and budget on a slightly sprained ankle?"

Michael clearly deliberates whether he should answer, though his face becomes more purple and swelled as he loses his temper. It's always this sort of person who get into bureaucracy, Dylan thinks: the sort who can't deal with being a doctor, and so find the easy way out. Well, that's not entirely fair. Strachan did it, and he's a semi-capable doctor.

"Yes I did!" Michael blurts out. "And I'm glad I have! Sean doesn't deserve to be spoken to like that – and it's all your fault.

"Plus," Michael adds, clearly as an afterthought, "the cycle of change in the Clinical Lead position – from Doctor Hanna, to Mrs Beauchamp, to yourself, to Mrs Beauchamp, to Doctor Gardner, and then back to Mrs Beauchamp, is a major cause for concern. _No wonder_ you act the way you do – there's nobody to put you in your place!"

Around him, Dylan is well aware of the fact that nobody's working: they're focused on the unfolding spectacle the Lead Inspector is making, and assessing his response to it. In all honesty, he's surprised that it's gotten this far: Connie would normally have already swept in and diffused the situation.

"Mr Taylor," Dylan begins slowly, deliberating his words. He's keen to come out of this professional, even if that does mean that he has to take a few extra seconds to think about how to phrase what he wants to say. "I came into medicine to treat patients – _all_ patients. Having worked as a GP and now in emergency medicine, I understand that some patients might not know where to go with an illness, despite the perpetual push by the NHS marketing team to inform them. However, I cannot believe that the _son_ of a hospital inspector would think that a painful ankle – which he had been walking around on for a _week_ – is the sort of thing to take to an Emergency Department.

"I am not judging your son's behaviour – he remains a child, though should you wish to discuss this at a later date, I would be more than willing – but I believe that things should not have turned out as they have." Dylan finishes talking, and hears the familiar sound of Connie's shoes behind him, approaching rapidly. He hasn't lost his temper; she should be proud.

"Mr Taylor, I…" Connie trails off and, for the first time, Dylan thinks he sees her speechless. "Would you like to come through to my office?" She turns to look at Dylan for a moment, and she looks…impressed? Surely not.

"I'll have your job for this!" Michael Taylor spits at Dylan, each word filled with venom. "You can't speak to me like that."

"And you can't inspect a department solely because your son you to," Dylan fires back, keeping his voice even. "Good day, Mr Taylor."

And with this, he walks away, leaving the clean-up to Connie Beauchamp, Clinical Lead. He's never been so glad that he isn't in power.

* * *

.x.

Half an hour later, Dylan experiences the first Charlie Fairhead pep talk of 2017. Maybe a little earlier, actually; despite the whole Sebastian business, people tended to stay away from him. Which just proved, once again, how fickle people can be. If only Zoe had been here…

"You alright, Dylan?" Charlie begins as he walks through the staff room door and shuts it. "Want a coffee?"

Dylan doesn't reply, so Charlie puts the kettle on anyway, and begins a slightly strange dialogue. "I wonder who's been in here, using these cups and not washing them up! I thought I had you all trained by now…"

"Charlie, I don't need a pep talk or a chance to vent out all my problems to you," Dylan retorts sharply, yet wearily. Can't people just give him some space? "Go find someone like Connie, though I bet even she's got herself together nowadays…"

Charlie ignores him, and instead sets down a mug of coffee, just the way that Dylan likes it, in front of him. "Drink it. And there's no need for a pep talk – as far as I'm concerned, you've done nothing wrong."

"But that's just the thing, isn't it, Charlie?" Dylan finds himself saying, regretting opening his mouth in the first place. "I _did_ cause the inspection. It might have happened entirely because the Taylors are determined to use their power to get their way all the time, but I did treat his son. Mistreat, perhaps? Who knows."

"And yet you handled yourself better out there than any of us could have dreamed of doing," Charlie counters, leaning against the breakfast bar. "Not even _Mrs Beauchamp_ could have kept her cool out there. Not only that, the inspector admitted that he had organised an unnecessary inspection to spite you. No, you did magnificently, Dylan."

"Then why the chat?" Dylan grumbles, taking a large swig of coffee. It rejuvenates him slightly, but this nagging headache is still present. It probably will be, until the inspection result is announced.

"Because sometimes, you need to know that the rest of the team have your back," Charlie replies gently. "And besides, I haven't done one for a while. I thought I might have lost my touch." He chuckles a little, but Dylan doesn't join in.

"Well, thanks for the coffee," Dylan says slowly, standing up and taking the mug with him. "Next time, a little more milk wouldn't go amiss…"

Ah, the joys of the Holby City Emergency Department!

* * *

.x.

Though she still waits until 4pm to press Michael Taylor for the official inspection result, Connie's well aware that they've passed following the conversation with the lead inspector in her office. Whilst she had always been aware of the motive behind the inspection, the fact that he had confessed it in front of an entire department of staff _and_ patients – not to mention his own team – had essentially secured the pass. Not that the department is perfect, of course. But it's well on its way.

When she reads the report, she's slightly amazed at the result: an entire ten points higher than the previous inspection!

"You deserve it," Michael says grudgingly. "You run a tight ship down here, Connie, even with your absence. It's clear that you have a strong team, even down to the registrars. Just how _did_ you get Sam Strachan to drop two paygrades?"

She blushes a little, and is glad that her attention remains directed at the inspection result. "I didn't," she admits. "He took the job of his own free will. I appreciate the result, Michael. I just hope that when the _next_ inspection comes round, it will be at the scheduled time, and not sixteen months early?"

Connie looks up and fixes him with a stern stare, and Michael at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

"Indeed," he mumbles. "Also…if you would let Doctor Keogh know that I have…withdrawn the complaint. I will…speak to my son about…well…you know…"

She raises an eyebrow slightly, and waits for him to elaborate.

"I'll clarify with him when and how he should use the NHS," Michael mutters, barely audibly.

"That's wonderful news – I'm sure that Doctor Keogh will be most pleased," Connie replies, unable to disguise the smile within her voice. "Do you need me to show you out, Michael?"

"No, no, I'll be fine," Michael says hurriedly, and Connie has a sneaking feeling that he wants to be out of here as soon as possible. Well, it's not exactly a surprise; he's barely looked at anyone in the aftermath of his explosive rant at Dylan. "Good day, Mrs Beauchamp. I hope to see you back on Darwin at some point."

Connie bids him farewell then, after he's left, notices that Dylan's loitering in the workstation.

"Doctor Keogh," she calls loudly, and his attention snaps to her immediately. "A word?"

Dylan enters slowly, almost hesitantly, and it's strange to see. If there's one person she can count on to act confident in even the darkest of times, it's generally Dylan.

"I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that we passed the inspection with flying colours – _and_ Michael Taylor has withdrawn his complaint," Connie begins, noticing relief spread across Dylan's face. "Now, this doesn't mean that an _internal_ investigation will disappear...yet I will be speaking to Henrik personally to reassure him of my continued support for you."

"But…?" Dylan mutters. "There's always a but with you, Connie."

She shrugs a little and picks up the coffee cup on the side of her desk. It's probably cold now, but she still needs caffeine. Just one more thing to do before she can declare the inspection result to the team, gather Sam, and go home.

"I need to rely on you and Elle whilst I'm upstairs," Connie says sharply, "and the way that you left the paperwork for me, Dylan, isn't reliable behaviour. If you don't want to do the paperwork, that's fine."

"That's fine?" Dylan questions, interrupting Connie's flow.

" _Yes_ ," she says, irritated, shooting him a glare. He doesn't get to interrupt. "But the compromise is that Sam Strachan will do the paperwork and liaise with yourself and Elle."

"Strachan?" Dylan scoffs. "I know that he used to be the Medical Director, but down here, Connie, he's just another registrar. We might as well get Ethan or Lily to do the paperwork."

"There is one person I trust to do the paperwork properly and that is Mr Strachan, Dylan," Connie replies sharply, enunciating every word. "Preferably, _you_ would do the paperwork. But as that is unlikely to happen, I have a choice: do I do the paperwork myself, and spend my limited time downstairs stuck in an office, or do I get the person it took four years to train to do paperwork to do it? Because he is _good_ at paperwork, after I made him spend two weeks solid doing it upstairs. It's your choice."

She knows what he's going to choose, and she also is well aware that it pains him to say it. "Get Strachan to do it," Dylan mumbles.

"Well I'm glad we've got that cleared up," Connie replies, a little sarcastically. "This doesn't mean I expect you to become best friends with him – after all, it pains me to _give_ him any form of responsibility. I just need you to be professional in the workplace. That's all."

Dylan raises an eyebrow. "Professional in the way _you_ are professional with him, Connie? Or is it one standard for the Clinical Lead and another for everyone else?"

"Do I make myself clear?" Connie says, ignoring his comment.

"Crystal," Dylan mutters, grumbling under his breath. "Well, if that's that, I'll go return to treating patients. Thanks for letting me know about the inspection."

Connie watches him walk out and close the door, wipes her eyes, and then picks up the phone. It's time to tell Hanssen the good news…

* * *

.x.

Half an hour later, she's just finished congratulating the team on an excellent performance – and informing them of the money she intends to put behind the bar in celebration for them – when she notices Sam starts to slip away.

"Mr Strachan," Connie calls, keeping her voice low so as to avoid many people calling on him, again. "My office," she adds, as he turns around, a little surprised.

They walk the few steps into her office in silence, before she closes the door behind him. He doesn't say a word, clearly doing his best to stay neutral. He might still be mad at her; he might be fine. For the first time, she struggles to read him.

"Sam," she says gently, biting her lip a little. "I'm sorry about this morning – and yesterday. And the day before."

"It's fine," Sam replies, too quickly.

"No, it isn't," she urges, taking a step closer to him, to try and close the gap that seems more than just physical. "I shouldn't have said what I said…about you being Medical Director. It was uncalled for – and completely untrue. You didn't work those hours because you didn't need to."

"And neither did you," Sam reminds her, a half-smile on his lips. "There's no way that the department would have scored as highly as it did if it only passed because you worked for practically four days straight."

She smiles a little, moving her head from side to side in semi-agreement. "I suppose you're right," she concedes. "It's just hard, knowing when to step back. I thought I had to do it by myself – I didn't want to drag you into work, because I didn't want to leave Grace on her own, without both of us."

"Well," Sam says gently, any and all traces of irritation gone as he takes a step closer to her, wrapping his arms around her back. She should tell him to stop, but she's too relieved – and too tired – to fight about something she wants. " _Next_ time there's an inspection, you won't be able to push me away when I try and help you, Con, even if we're keeping our work and home lives separate. And that's not even a deal, it's non-negotiable."

Connie smiles wider now, unable to stop herself. "I wouldn't dream of arguing with you, Mr Strachan," she replies, leaning in closer as she places one hand on his shoulder. "Now, before I forget…I've changed the rota, again."

"Do we need to talk about this now?" Sam asks quietly, his lips centimetres from hers.

"Yes," she whispers. "Because I've given you the weekend off, like me. I thought that we could maybe do something? As a family?"

He doesn't reply before he kisses her, but she thinks that that's a yes.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading to the end! I'd love to hear your thoughts, as usual.**


	6. Beaches

Chapter Six:

 **Apologies for the delay in uploading - hope it's worth the wait!**

* * *

"Morning, Gracie," Connie greets her daughter as she walks – or stumbles – into the kitchen at eight am on a Saturday morning. "Did you sleep well?"

There's some form of response in the grunt that Grace issues, her hair hanging across her face, but no actual words as the girl takes a seat at the breakfast table.

"I guess that means: morning dearest mum, I am so excited to go on a day trip with the best people ever that I can't even speak," Sam calls across from next to the cooker. "And…what was that…you're so hungry that you want eggs on your breakfast?"

Grace looks up and shoots a glare in her dad's general direction, a spitting image of her mother on any given day of the week that Sam's around.

"I think she said that she wants _two_ eggs," Connie joins in, smiling as she pours Grace a cup of orange juice. "And maybe some tomatoes, too."

This time, the glare's aimed at Connie.

"Ugh," Grace mumbles, wiping sleep from her eyes. "You two are _so annoying_. Like, the most annoying people ever. Can't we just go back to bed for another hour or two?"

Connie and Sam exchange a look of amusement at their daughter's need to sleep. It's clear to Connie that Grace has inherited Sam's need to sleep until the sun's high in the sky, though only in the last six months or so. Before that, Grace had always managed to wake her mother up at the crack of dawn – even on her days off.

"But then we'd miss the best part of the day down at the beach!" Connie declares, reaching over and wrapping an arm around Grace. She then pulls Grace's hair back from her face, and scrapes it into a loose ponytail. "And you know that your dad wouldn't be happy if he didn't get to build his sand castle…"

"Sand _fortress_ ," Sam corrects Connie. "Three breakfasts, coming up."

"And if we go later, you don't get fish and chips," Connie adds, ignoring Sam's interruption, and notices Grace's expression light up.

"But…you said last night that they're too unhealthy and that we can't have them," Grace replies, taking a sip of her orange juice. "Ew. Dad, did you get the one with bits in again?"

Sam walks across with three plates in his hands. "Breakfast is served."

"You're going to break a plate!" Connie remarks, grabbing the plate balanced on Sam's inner arm. "I told you I'd come and get one."

"Too slow," Sam retorts, fixing Connie with a competitive stare. "Just like you said I am at work."

"Too impatient," Connie shoots back, and for a moment it's as if Grace isn't even there.

"Too much of a control freak," Sam responds, taking the seat across from Connie and Grace.

Grace coughs before Connie can reply, diverting both of her parents' attention to her. "Are you sure you two are the adults? Because it feels like I'm always babysitting you," she says sharply, narrowing her eyes at her dad. "Do you act like this at work, too?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," Connie says quickly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Grace's temple. "Your dad's a very bad influence on me."

Sam narrows his eyes. "Am _not_ ," he retorts, and Connie can hear the teenager in his voice. Time to stop this conversation before they reach the stage where Grace actually is the most mature person in the room.

" _Anyway_ ," Connie replies sharply, picking up her cutlery. "I'm really looking forward to today and I'm glad that it looks like it'll be sunny. I'm sure Rufus will love a little trip to the seaside."

This ameliorates both Sam and Grace, and the three of them eat in silence for a few moments. She's glad that Sam enjoys cooking because, in all honesty, making breakfast isn't Connie's speciality. Her bacon always seems to burn and her eggs scramble regardless of what she's trying to do to them.

In all honesty, she _is_ looking forward to today. Though she's had every Saturday – and nearly every Sunday – off in the three months since the inspection, illness and a surge in the number of patients has meant that Sam's had to work nearly every one. Connie's certainly enjoyed getting to spend more time with her daughter – and, on the days when Grace decides that her mum isn't cool enough so goes out with friends, taking the rare opportunity to wind down – but she's regretted the fact that they haven't been able to spend much time as a family.

They spend at least three nights a week together, the three of them, but it never seems like enough time. After dinner's made and Grace has done her homework, there's only really an hour or two between Sam getting home and Grace going to bed. Whilst this has left Connie and Sam ample time to build and develop their relationship – including the time he surprised her with a one night stay at her favourite historical castle in Kent – it hasn't exactly left a lot of time for them to spend with their daughter, as a family.

That's why Connie intervened and amended the ED rota to ensure that, for once, they can be a family unit and enjoy a day together. She loves them both; she wants to spend time with them together. As a family.

"Mum," Grace says, trying to get Connie's attention, and only then does Connie realise that she's zoned out. "Were you listening?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," Connie replies, turning to look at Grace. "I was thinking. What did you say?"

"Can I borrow your old sunglasses? Mine are too small now."

Connie smiles. "Of course, Gracie. Just make sure that you tidy your room before we leave, and I'll give you them. As we agreed."

Grace looks across at Sam. "Daaaad….." she begins, but Sam stops her in her tracks.

"As your mum said, Gracie," he replies sternly, making eye contact with Connie. She's pleased that he's supporting her – though she's certainly not surprised. They've been a team when parenting Grace for the past few months, no longer undermining the other to try and be the favourite parent. It's been one of the best things about this relationship. "Best put the plates in the dishwasher quickly and go tidy your room before we get ready, or we'll be leaving without your mum's sunglasses."

Grace rolls her eyes and stands up, picking up all three plates as if she's daring her mum to say something. Connie doesn't.

"You only agree when you're telling me off," she mutters as she walks across to the dishwasher.

Connie drinks her coffee and reaches out and takes Sam's hand on top of the table, smiling as he begins to rub small circles at the point where her thumb and forefinger meet.

"I'm really happy," Connie admits, as soon as Grace stomps out of the room. She's been making an effort recently to tell Sam how she's feeling, not because she has to but because she wants to. Though they've argued once or twice in the time they've been together, she's still happier than she's ever been – because rather than letting the anger consume them, they've worked out why the argument happened in the first place. Or they've tried to, anyway.

Sam smiles, and it lights up his whole face. "I know," he agrees, "and I am too. Thanks for changing the rota."

"Couldn't be Clinical Lead and not abuse my power _once_ or twice," Connie replies with a small laugh. She doesn't let go of Sam's hand, but she stands up and walks around the table and takes a seat next to him on the bench. "Are you missing me down there?" Her work on Darwin's kept her away from the ED for the last week and a half, and part of her misses it.

The other part of her is glad that, for a change, her days and nights aren't consumed by Sam Strachan. They're still not official at work – though she can't always stop herself responding to his flirtatious comments, so it's likely that most of the department know that something's going on – but it's as if he's taking over every part of her life. And whilst it's slightly selfish, Connie wants part of her life that is hers, and hers alone.

It could also be a potential powder keg for arguments, when she returns to the ED full time. Spending all of their time together gives them no room to vent about the other, or to have a topic of conversation to bring home for dinner. But it's not Connie's concern – not for today, anyway. There's still a good month or two before they have to work out a solution, though it's pretty clear that they're going to have to. This relationship – and she feels comfortable calling it a relationship now – isn't going anywhere.

"Well, _down there_ only saw you last night," Sam replies in a sultry voice into her ear, and Connie blushes. Trust Sam to find the double meaning in her words – as always. "But yes, I miss you _terribly_ at work, especially as I always seem to be there."

Connie presses a gentle kiss to Sam's lips and smiles as his hand wraps into her messily tied back hair. It's relaxing, having been together for a semi-extended period of time: she no longer worries about looking perfect. Not that she ever really did before, anyway.

"Are you _sure_?" It's her turn to whisper into his ear. "Because at work, I'd send you home for calling me a control freak…"

This time, he kisses her – until a voice causes them both to jump.

"You two are actually _worse_ than teenagers – I almost preferred it when you hated each other!"

* * *

"Morning," Dylan begins the daily teamtalk at the workstation in the centre of the ED with his team. "Today, we're expecting a similar trend to previous weeks, so an increase in patient numbers. We're a doctor down, so I need everyone to work smart. Doctors Hardy and Munroe, cubicles. Doctor Gardner, resus. Whenever the locum gets here, he's on minors. Thank you."

He's halfway back to Connie's office by the time Elle catches up to him. "Dylan…where's Sam Strachan?"

Dylan turns and huffs, irritated. " _Mrs Beauchamp_ amended the rota and gave him the day off."

Elle snorts. "Of course," she replies, following Dylan into the office and closing the door. "Nice of her to provide cover, though. Not."

"We'll be fine," Dylan counters, sounding almost positive. He's doing his best to sound like the covering Clinical Lead the team deserve, rather than a cynic who is covering only out of necessity. "I'd rather not have him here pouting because we've forced him to actually do his job."

"Very mature of you, Dylan," Elle responds, taking a seat on the sofa and heaving a heavy sigh. "I can't believe it's been three months since Connie first went upstairs."

"I can."

"Yes, well, you know what I mean. I think we're – _you're_ – doing a good job."

Dylan smiles slightly, despite himself. " _We're_ doing a good job," he corrects, picking up his pen. Whilst Sam Strachan has, on Connie's orders, done most of the paperwork, Dylan's insisted on keeping up to date with the official stats, just in case Henrik Hanssen decides to pay a visit. "And anyway, it won't be for much longer, didn't you say last week?"

Elle nods. "Yes, Connie said something about maybe another month, a month and a half max. Then we can go back to just treating the patients…and listening to whatever hairbrained scheme Noel and Max are up to…"

"And whatever they're betting on in any given week," Dylan adds, causing Elle to groan.

"You know what, I think I'd almost rather keep the responsibility," Elle jokes. "Connie giving Sam the day off will definitely fan the flames of the latest bet…I mean, it's been three months, I'm sure Max is desperate to get his winnings back."

Rolling his eyes, Dylan shakes his head. "She's an idiot, really. I mean, who looks at Sam Strachan and thinks, this is the person I want to be with? Especially a woman like Connie Beauchamp…"

Elle stands up and walks towards the door. "I think she sees a different side of him, Dylan…just as he sees a different side of her," she explains, her voice soft. "I think it's quite sweet, actually."

"Hmpf," comes Dylan's response. "Well, certainly rather her than me. Maybe the relationship won't last when she's back and realises that he's the worst doctor in the hospital…"

Laughing, Elle opens the door and adds, "you've warmed to him, Dylan. Two months ago, he was the worst doctor in the world. I'll see you later."

As Elle leaves, Dylan drops his pen and shuts his eyes, deciding to have a couple of minutes to himself. Since the inspection that he caused, he's spent a lot more time in the department, wanting to do it – and Connie – justice. She stuck her neck out for him, defended him to Hanssen against the Taylors, and he hadn't expected her to; he owed, and still owes, her. Despite their occasional differences, he has a great deal of respect for Connie Beauchamp, and he regrets behaving in a manner that risked her department.

So, for the last three months, he's done his best to do her proud. Recently, she's spent less and less time downstairs, and he can tell that she appreciates the fact that she no longer has to worry about the ED – Dylan and Elle are looking after it as well as she would. That isn't to say that he's lost sight of who he is – his bedside manner is the same as ever, and his disdain for Sam Strachan has barely dulled despite the lack of paperwork – but it simply means that, for a few more weeks, he's willing to step up. For Connie, despite her sins.

However, there's a little voice in the back of his mind that thinks she won't be back. There's rumours from upstairs that one of the cardiothoracic consultants is thinking of leaving – and whilst Dylan normally debunks and ignores any form of hospital gossip, he has to admit that he's more than a little worried. Because if Connie Beauchamp was offered her old job back – he's almost certain she would accept. Which would leave him – or Elle, or both of them – in a position that, at this moment in time, he isn't ready for.

It would also leave him with Sam Strachan – and then, he'd have to actually act professional with the man.

Opening his eyes and standing up, Dylan pushes all thoughts of _what if_ and _could be_ out of his head, and walks towards the door. Today, he's in resus – he's a Consultant in Emergency Medicine. He's a doctor, not a bureaucrat or the keeper of Connie Beauchamp…even if he does think that she could do a million times better.

* * *

It's warm for October as the Beauchamp-Strachans descend on the beach forty-five minutes away from Holby. Connie's been here many times before, though primarily when Grace was a baby and refused to sleep through the night. The salty, cold sea air calmed her daughter more easily than any human – other than perhaps Sam Strachan – ever could.

Sam also brought Grace here, too, though never with Connie. This is the first time that they've been here together – as a family.

As they walk down to the seafront, Grace hanging onto Sam's arm to prevent Rufus from dragging her away from her parents, Connie decides to take a trip down memory lane.

"It was about this point on the promenade, Gracie, that you decided you wanted to pet a seagull," Connie begins, making eye contact with Sam as their daughter steadfastly looks away. "I've never heard anyone scream louder – I think the shopkeepers thought I was trying to kill you!"

Grace ignores the story, though Connie can see her daughter's cheeks turning red. Ah, the trusty Beauchamp blush – it's part of the reason that Connie rarely leaves the house without wearing makeup.

Chortling a little, Sam shakes his head and wraps his free arm around Connie's waist. The casual display of affection startles her at first, because she's used to them keeping things under wraps, but then she warms to it. It's nice to not worry about people from work seeing them together.

"I've got a better one…you won't remember this, Gracie, but when you were about eighteen months, I brought you down here in the middle of summer," Sam starts. "And it was boiling, so I bought an ice cream and gave you a few licks every now and then – but you ended up covered in the stuff. So I changed you, and then we went for a little walk down the beach…and somehow, you managed to get absolutely soaked, so then it was time for outfit number three. And this is when you decided to do such a big poo that it leaked through your nappy, trousers and blanket. Best thing was that you were on the merry-go-round, and there was just poo flying everywhere." He's choking by the time he reaches the end of his story, and Connie's laughing a little too, though secretly she's incredibly glad that this hadn't happened on any of her trips to the seaside.

Grace turns to look at both of her parents, and shakes her head. "Ew. Gross. I don't want to hear these stories – can't you be like normal parents and just tell the good ones?"

"These _are_ the good ones, sweetheart," Connie replies, stopping in her tracks. "Come on, pass me Rufus so your dad can stand still, I think he's going to choke from laughter. Darling, it isn't _that_ funny," she adds to Sam, extracting herself from his grip so he can double over in laughter.

A few minutes later, Sam's recovered enough for the three of them to carry on walking, and this time, it's Grace who starts the conversation.

"Mum, did you always go to the seaside when you were a kid?"

Breathing slowly, Connie shakes her head. "No, sweetheart, I didn't. Why?"

She looks at Sam, and notices that his expression becomes concerned. And only then does she remember that she hasn't told him the story of her childhood – not the full story, anyway. He knows enough, from when her father visited Darwin, but not everything. He doesn't know why she shuns nearly every mention of her childhood.

"Because you're always talking about going to the beach and stuff, but you hate the sea," Grace replies, sounding confused. "Why did we always come here then?"

Connie bites her lip, and searches for the right words. Unfortunately, because Sam doesn't know anything, he can't reply for her, so she has to find a way to phrase what she wants to say.

"Because…well, you see, sweetheart, I lived in a not very nice part of London and so we didn't really get to go anywhere nice or to the coast," Connie begins, rambling a little. "So I wanted to make sure that my little girl could go to these places if she wants to. Which, when you were younger, you always did."

Connie looks back at Sam, and he smiles as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She appreciates it more than he knows; talking about her past, her parents, it always makes her feel cold and vulnerable. But now, she feels at home.

"Oh, okay," Grace replies, smiling as she turns and runs up to Connie's other side, Rufus running behind her. "You're the best, mum. Love you...now can we go in the arcades?"

* * *

Whilst the day begins slowly, patient numbers soon start to build by around midday, much as Dylan (and Connie) had predicted. Even though she wasn't due to start until three in the afternoon, on a sort of cross-over into a night shift, Lily had been asked to come in early, and had agreed; she didn't really have much to do in the hours waiting for a shift to start, anyway.

However, she almost regrets her decision when the first patient is delivered by none other than Iain Dean. Even though three months had passed since that fateful day when they had both said things they probably regretted, it still hurts to look at him. Because he was the man she was willing to put aside her five year plan for – the man she _had_ put her plan aside for. And all he had done was rip her to pieces for something she hadn't even known she had done.

Though the last twelve weeks have been hard, Lily's pretty certain that she's grown from them. She's started to think about the potential implications of her words, and considered why exactly it is that things never seem to go her way. She's also taken up kickboxing, because if anyone tries to hurt her again, she wants to make her own mark on them. The scars from the car crash are her daily reminders that, unlike Cal Knight, she survived a life-threatening scenario, and she should try and make each and every day mean something.

That's easier said than done, however, when she encounters Iain. Every single time they meet, without fail, she struggles with what she should say. Should she greet him, as she would before? Should she apologise? And whenever she thinks she should apologise, she stops herself – because, really, she doesn't have anything to apologise for. He knew what she was like when he decided he liked her, and anyway, she didn't mean to hurt him. He must have just been extra sensitive. And whilst he did really have a point about the whole Sam Strachan debacle, she's still unwilling to discuss that; she made a lapse of judgement, but at the end of the day, nothing really changed because of it.

Nothing besides her relationship – or potential relationship – with Iain.

"Good afternoon," Lily greets Iain in a neutral tone. "What have we got?"

"This is Maria Thompson, forty-three, fell down a flight of stairs and has a query fractured hip and tib, GCS thirteen, heart rate 84. Had five of morphine en route, and is complaining of pain to the abdomen," Iain recites as they walk towards the centre of the ED, though he does look up and smile briefly at Lily. His expression becomes concerned, and Lily immediately looks away and towards the patient, Maria. She doesn't need his concern.

"Right, bay three in resus please, Iain," Lily replies, her voice slightly more clipped. "Alright, Maria, how are you feeling? Charlie, if you could get her set up, I'll be across in a moment to assess the leg," Lily continues, directing the latter part towards Charlie.

Before she can follow Maria into resus, however, Iain lightly grabs a hold of her arm and pulls her to the side, out of the way of the entourage entering resus.

"Hey," Iain starts, sounding concerned. More concerned than he's been for three months, anyway. "What happened?"

Lily rolls her eyes. Of course he would care now. "What do you mean?"

"Your face," Iain replies, lifting a hand and pointing to Lily's left cheek. "What happened? Did someone punch you?"

Taking a step back, Lily shakes her head. "No, they didn't. And it's not really any of your business, is it?"

And with this, she walks into resus, and doesn't even glance back at Iain Dean.

.

Half an hour later, Iain approaches Charlie at the workstation, having a few minutes left before his break ends. Jez is around here somewhere, and he can't really leave until his fellow paramedic is ready to.

"Charlie," Iain begins, causing the nurse to look up in his direction. "Is Lily alright?"

Charlie chuckles a little and sets his pen down. "She's fine, as far as I can tell. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Iain looks away for a moment, fiddling with the corner of one of the files on the desk. "It looks like she's been punched or something, but she didn't say when I spoke to her earlier."

Moving across so that he's standing on the other side of the bench to Iain, Charlie shakes his head. "Without trying to get involved, Iain, but is it really any of your business? I mean, if she wanted you to know, she would have told you…"

Sighing, Iain drops his head into his hands and wipes his eyes. It's been a long shift, and it only seems to get longer every time he sees Lily Chao. No matter their differences, he regrets what he said to her, all those months ago. He just doesn't think that she's willing to speak to him long enough for him to say sorry.

"Yeah, you're right," Iain replies into his hands. "But I still care about her, even if I can't show her. Thanks anyway, Charlie."

He begins to walk away, just as Charlie calls, "wait."

As Iain turns back, he sees that Charlie looks torn – probably between wanting to keep Lily's confidence, and reassuring Iain.

"She isn't in any trouble, don't worry," Charlie says quickly, "it's just a sports injury. Don't try and carry out an investigation into it, because there's nothing to find out."

.

Standing at the workstation, Lily's typing an email to a contact in Switzerland as rapidly as possible regarding a potential drug trial candidate sitting in one of her cubicles. Dylan's already authorised her actions, and the patient seems keen to participate in the H2504 trial; it's all now down to whether or not Suzanna Price is still accepting patients.

"Lily, have you got a minute?" Charlie begins, sounding hesitant. Strange, Lily thinks. Charlie's normally all guns blazing when it comes to one of his infamous chats.

"One minute," she says, and one minute later, she's ready to chat. "What's wrong, Charlie?"

"Are you alright?" Charlie asks, raising a hand to his own cheek. Lily mirrors it, and winces slightly as she presses against the bruise almost completely disguised by makeup. Kickboxing leaves more visible marks than getting hit by a car, it seems.

"Yes, I'm fine," Lily replies, shrugging a little. "It's just a bruise, really, I'll be fine."

Before Charlie can reply, Duffy's approached the pair of them, an equally concerned expression on her face.

"Love, are you sure you don't want me to look at it? It looks painful."

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Lily shakes her head. "No, really, Duffy, I'm fine," she insists. "I told you both this earlier – why are you suddenly pressing me?"

Duffy hesitates and makes eye contact with Charlie briefly before she replies. "I know you're fine, I just want…have you got a minute, sweetheart?" she asks, and Lily's momentarily distracted by her colleague's use of _sweetheart_. Nobody calls her that – not even her mother.

"I, er, yes, if it's just one minute," Lily replies, disarmed, and follows both Duffy and Charlie into the staffroom. Just what could this be about?

It's empty, thankfully, so Charlie closes the door as Duffy takes the seat across from Lily at the breakfast bar.

"We know it's not really any of our business…but we just wanted to make sure that you're doing alright…after…after what happened with Iain?" Duffy begins gently, but Lily's back stiffens. Of course. Of course it would be a sneak attack like this.

"I'm fine," Lily repeats, though she's aware she's said this a few too many times for it to be realistic. "Really. What happened…it was a long time ago now. He's moved on and…so have I. It clearly just wasn't meant to be."

Duffy's brow furrows – in concern or confusion, Lily can't quite tell. She's never exactly been the best at deciphering other people's expressions, or emotions.

"Well, I just…we wanted to let you know that he was asking after you, earlier," Charlie interrupts, moving across so he's standing in between Duffy and Lily. "I told him there was nothing to worry about – that it was just a sporting injury – but he didn't look convinced. I just wanted to let you know, in case he mentions anything."

Lily nods slowly, processing as she tries to find the right words to communicate what she feels, ones which aren't designed to hurt someone, intentionally or otherwise.

"I…thank you, both of you," she says sincerely, making eye contact with both Charlie and Duffy. "But really, I don't think he's too concerned. He said things back then, I said things, we both meant them and we probably still do. But I do appreciate you letting me know."

Duffy and Charlie once again exchange looks, and Lily's struck with a pang of jealousy, because she wishes that she had someone who could understand her perfectly with just one glance.

"I think you're wrong about that," Duffy adds, reaching out and taking Lily's hand. For once, Lily lets her. "I think he still cares – and you do, too. You're both just too stubborn to see it."

"Try talking to him," Charlie urges. "Or don't. Just, if he comes to you, don't ignore him out of spite because of what happened in the past. If nothing else, he's a good person to have around as a friend."

Thinking, Lily nods and stands up. "I will do my best," she replies slowly, though she doesn't smile. "Well, I best get back to it. Thank you, though."

As she walks out, she swears she can hear Duffy say, "she's changed recently – for the better. I hope he has, too."

But then again, she might be imagining it.

* * *

By the time they get home from the seaside, it's dark. The cold, salt sea air has sent both Rufus and Grace to sleep on the way home from the pub they stopped off at for dinner, and Connie's barely able to keep her eyes open as they approach her driveway. For all of her hatred for the sea itself, she can't deny how much she loves the sleep-inducing effect of its air.

"You get Rufus, I'll carry Grace in," Sam murmurs as he shuts off the engine and turns the car's lights off. "She is staying here tonight, isn't she?"

Connie nods, and gently opens the car door, so as not to disturb their daughter's sleep. In the past month or two, Grace has spent more and more time at her mum's house, and last week, she started referring to it as 'home' again. It's not perfect, but it's a start – and Connie hates the very rare nights she spends at her dad's house.

Picking up the whining toddler-dog, Connie jogs up to the front door and unlocks it before turning the alarm off and the hallway light on. There's a small pile of post which she moves with her foot, not wanting Sam to trip over it, though a visual glance suggests most of it is junk. Most important things come by email, nowadays.

She's hesitant to think about what she wants to talk to Sam about, because in all honesty, she's scared of the answer. It's a question she's wanted to ask him for weeks, but no day has felt like the right time – or far enough into the relationship.

Tonight, however…tonight feels perfect.

That doesn't stop her worrying about what he's going to say.

Connie slips into the kitchen as Sam takes Grace upstairs to bed, and sets Rufus down in his own bed. He yowls a little, but soon settles back into a rhythm of heavy breathing and light snorting, despite the light from the fridge shining over his bed.

She hears Sam come back downstairs just as she's pouring a second glass of wine, and she hands it to him as he enters the room.

"I probably should get off, soon," Sam says slowly as Connie slides the bottle of wine back into the fridge wine rack.

Frowning slightly, she leans across and presses her lips to his. "I thought you were staying here tonight?" she replies as she takes a step away and towards the living room.

"I didn't realise you wanted me to," Sam retorts, though he doesn't sound angry. He doesn't sound anything.

"I didn't realise I had to ask," Connie shoots back, then bites her lip. She doesn't want to sound angry – she doesn't want to ruin the lovely day they've had. "Stay with me." It's more of a command than a question, but she's pleased when Sam slips his hand into hers as they walk through to the living room.

"I'll stay whenever you want me to," Sam murmurs into her ear, before pulling her down onto the sofa. It's hard to stop herself squealing, and the wine sloshes around in their glasses, but it's fun. It's spontaneous. It's entirely Sam Strachan.

Sam sets both of their glasses down on the table – with whatever wine's left in them, anyway – as Connie lies across him, not wanting to move.

"I love you," Connie blurts out. They've said it before, probably a hundred times, but it's an evening for spontaneity, and she wants him to know.

The laughter dies from Sam's face, and is instead replaced by a strangely serious and yet loving expression. "I love you, too," he replies, leaning forwards to kiss her.

But before he can, just before their lips meet, Connie continues to stare into his eyes as she murmurs, "move in with me. Please."

He stops in his tracks and leans backwards a little. "I…are you _sure_?"

Well, Connie thinks, at least it isn't an outright no. But he certainly doesn't sound as excited as she is. "Yes," she replies slowly. "I'm sure. I mean, we practically live together anyway, and it would make things easier. Plus…I think we're ready. At least I know I am. I want to spend every night with you, not just a few."

Sam takes a moment to think, but Connie can see the answer on his face.

"I can think of nothing I want more," he replies quietly, though with such sincerity Connie believes him wholeheartedly. "I can't wait to move in with you, Connie Beauchamp."

* * *

As usual, please let me know your thoughts! I really loved writing this chapter, so I hope you've enjoyed reading it!


	7. Confessions

Chapter Seven:

Thank you so much for your reviews everyone!

This is the last "pre-written" chapter - i.e from now, I'll be posting as I write. Got a friend up this weekend but I'll be back to writing next week!

* * *

"Max!" Louise calls from the centre of the ED, attracting the attention of nearly everyone nearby. "Come here!"

"What's up?" Max asks, leaning over the workbench, crossing his arms and leaning his chin on top. "Come to your senses and realised that I'm the man of your dreams?"

Louise fixes him with a stare. " _No_. Wouldn't want to hurt Tara," she shoots back immediately. "I just wanted to update you on something I saw on social media. Something to do with the bet."

Max immediately perks up. "Ooohhh…do you think I'm finally going to get my money?" he muses, staring off into the distance. "Because, well, there's a new TV I want to buy and I've got a _hundred_ quid tied up in that bloody bet, and it's taking them far too long to get together. People are almost bored."

"Are you sure?" Louise retorts. "I swear nobody in this place talks about anything other than Mrs Beauchamp's love life in the pub. If I wasn't emotionally invested in her life, I'd think we were all being creepy."

"Well…back to the point, what's up?" Max changes the subject back, aware of the fact that standing and talking in the workstation doesn't make him look busy. And he's very, very busy. Plus, Mrs Beauchamp almost caught him talking about the bet last week, and they came _very_ close to having to explain why her name was being mentioned in conjunction with the term 'bet'.

Louise doesn't say anything, simply turns the monitor so Max can see the photo on it.

It's a photo of Connie and Sam sat together, smiling widely, clearly taken by Grace. It's not just a 'let's smile at our daughter' smile, but one of genuine warmth and happiness. The photo's not brilliant – thanks to a strange filter of sunshines in the corners of the snap – but it almost looks like Sam's arm is wrapped around the Clinical Lead.

The picture's captioned, _don't normally say this sort of thing, but I really love my parents. They're the best, even when my dad makes me do my homework and my mum makes me think about what I want to do with my life. #ILoveMyFamily_

"I think I'm going to cry," Max says, a huge smile on his face. "I think I've won. Can we class photos as evidence they're together? Because if so…I've done it!"

Louise smiles, "I just love that she's calling them a family…it's great."

Another voice joins the conversation, though thankfully it isn't either Sam or Connie. Whilst Sam's still vaguely aware of the bet – at least Max assumes he is, given he keeps dropping hints about Connie and Henrik Hanssen – he's probably not aware how much some of them have at stake. Noel, for some reason, increased his stake to include his favourite action figure, currently the only one to back a Connie/Guy Self relationship. Jac Naylor's a pretty strong favourite, but Sam's now flying way out in front – though, as betmaster, Max has ensured everyone else has ridiculously poor odds.

"Where do you keep getting these photos from, Lou?" Alicia asks, turning the monitor towards her so she can look at it more closely. "Surprised Mrs B's on social media – she doesn't seem the sort, does she?"

"Nah, it's on Grace's, but she tagged Sam in it," Louise explains, feeling a little déjà vu from when she explained pretty much the same thing to Dylan. "He's not very big on it either, not for the last few months, so it's pretty much just pictures that Grace has put up. She's a sweet kid – most wouldn't even mention their mum or dad on the internet."

Alicia snorts. "Why am I not surprised you're friends with Sam," she jokes, before abruptly stopping. Probably something to do with the ill-fated 'almost one-night stand' she had with Sam nine months before. "But, yeah, well, it's cute, isn't it? Can't imagine what Dylan's going to say, though."

"Can't imagine what I'm going to say about _what_?" Dylan announces from behind Louise and Alicia.

"Didn't hear you approach, Doctor Keogh," Louise mumbles.

He snorts. "Well, when there's a nurse, junior doctor and a porter standing at a workstation for a matter of minutes without anyone being on the phone, it's quite clear something's going on," Dylan retorts, taking a step closer so he can look at the screen. "Ah, I see," is all he says.

"Well? What do you think?" Alicia presses, her interest in the departmental gossip overriding the idea of leaving it be.

Once again, Dylan snorts. "She can do whatever she wants," he adds. That he hasn't gone straight in for the attack on Sam Strachan shows the rest of them how he's mellowed – slightly – towards the registrar over the past four and a bit months. "But I still wish he'd clear off out of here and never come back…and preferably bring our Clinical Lead back down. Now I'm sure you've all got some work to do – so do it."

* * *

"Right, can I have two of vicryl," Connie says, her hand deep within the chest of a forty-something year old man lying on her operating table. "Jac, can you…" she trails off as she gestures to her assisting surgeon to grab part of the patient's chest.

"Just relax," Jac says, though from the little bit of face that Connie can see, it's clear that the Darwin Clinical Lead is enjoying this.

Connie merely fixes her with a stare, and asks for another two of vicryl, feeling for the arterial vein amongst the various blood vessels. Over the past few months, doing cardiothoracic operations has become second nature to her again; it doesn't take long to fix the problem.

"What are you doing?" Jac asks. "Surely you should have secured the clamps on the aorta first…?"

Once again, Connie fixes her with a stare as she feels the patient's left ventricle. Better than it was, but still not perfect – not up to Connie's standards.

"No," Connie explains, sounding almost patient. "Doing it this way is not only faster, it affects the patient less. _Do_ try and not question every decision I make, or I'll expel you from my theatre like I did last time you did so. Now, press down on the right lung, and check the bronchiole please."

There's an audible breath around the theatre as, once again, Connie Beauchamp proves exactly who is in charge.

"That was fun," Jac comments as she enters the consultants' office on Darwin, tying her hair up as she walks. "Nice of you to treat me like a child again, though. I thought we'd gotten passed this." She's turning Connie's words back on her, though she is clearly speaking in jest.

Whilst Connie wouldn't call Jac her _friend_ , she'd certainly struggle to find a word to clearly define what their relationship had become. She had visited the younger surgeon's house – and been pleasantly surprised at her daughter, Emma – and they'd gone out for dinner and drinks on more than one occasion after a stressful meeting or three. The pressure's certainly stepped up over the past month, as they're now only two weeks away from the official Centre of Excellence rating confirmation, and Connie's been thankful to have Jac around. Not that she'd exactly openly admit it, of course.

"Stop trying to undermine me, then," Connie replies absentmindedly. She's reading a text – more of an essay – from Sam about how Grace's school has sent home some unnecessary paperwork confirming that she's fit to be in school. Bit late, given it's now early-December and Grace has been back at Holby Grammar since September, but that's the incompetent headteacher all over.

Jac jumps onto the sofa behind Connie's desk, and laughs. "Me, undermine? Never…" She then sits forwards, and Connie jumps slightly. "Ooohh…who's sent you an essay? The _still_ anonymous lover boy?"

Connie blushes, and shrugs. She's on the verge of admitting to Jac that she's with Sam Strachan – as, after all, it's been five months; they're probably due to go public – but she doesn't think she can quite bring herself to do it. The smug look on the younger woman's face would probably cause Connie to throw her out of the window…because, for five months, the one name she's continued to come back to is Sam Strachan.

"Who says he still exists?" Connie retorts, swiftly closing the text message before Jac can make out the sender's name. "Who says he ever existed at all? Why am I actually facilitating you poking around my love life, rather than focusing on the presentation we're giving tomorrow?"

Jac ignores the second part of the sentence and smiles. "Because we're best friends and you just can't _wait_ to tell me that you're dating someone, have been for months, and are actually capable of being a normal human being?" she says, laughing slightly. "And then you'll confess who it is, and then we can stop this merri-go-round of me asking who you're dating and you ignoring the question that we've done for _five_ months, because frankly, I'm tired of it, and I just want you to admit that you're dating Sam Strachan. Like, properly dating. Not just sleeping with. Because if that's the case, I'll be _super_ disappointed."

Connie makes sure she's facing the computer as she replies. "Well, I'm sorry to say that you won't be learning anything today, Jac. Or ever, if I can help it. Now, what's Mr Gormum's status?"

They talk about the patient for a few minutes before Jac leaves to do her ward round, and it's only as she leaves that Connie realises she didn't refute the fact that she's in a relationship with Sam Strachan.

* * *

"Alicia, with me," Elle calls as she passes the workstation with a new patient, wheeled in by two new paramedics, Faye and George. "Right, we'll go to resus one, please chaps."

Alicia follows swiftly behind Elle and the patient, hearing snippets of the information. GCS 11…they've had a fall off the side of a block of flats…might have been pushed…definitely been in a fight, too…not even seventeen years old.

For a split second, Alicia sees how the patient's age and gender affects Elle – because, realistically, it could be one of her boys. But then she pulls herself together, and orders the patient to be moved across onto the bed, and starts reeling off a list of tests that need to be booked whilst Alicia does the primary survey. As strong as ever, with a hint of Connie Beauchamp in there: Elle's always been a strong doctor, but there's some things she's learnt from the Clinical Lead.

"My name's Alicia, can you count how many fingers I'm holding up?" Alicia says gently to the boy, who still looks dazed from the flashlight shone into his eyes. "Can you tell me where you are, or what your name is?"

He doesn't reply, and Alicia fears that it's a bad head injury.

"Doctor Munroe, what do you suggest we do?" Elle asks suddenly, and Alicia feels her mind go blank for a moment, as it clears all of the clutter about Ethan and the bet and whether her mum's happier nowadays out of the way, so she can focus on this patient.

"Right…CT to start with, then all the usual blood tests, clotting, amylase and MRI following soon after," Alicia says, almost immediately. "He's holding his airway, so I don't think we need to intubate, but we should have a kit on standby, in case he deteriorates."

Elle nods, looking across towards the patient, but Alicia doesn't think she's really looking at him. She's clearly doing her best to pretend that there's absolutely no resemblance to Blake Gardner.

"Good job," Elle replies suddenly, turning back and smiling slightly at Alicia. It's clearly a forced smile, and Elle's already making her way towards the door. "I'll be in resus two; if you need me, just shout loudly. Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine."

* * *

"Dad!" Grace calls across the ED, turning the heads of anyone who could be the father of an almost-teenage girl. "There you are! I've been looking for you for _ages_ ," she adds, as she makes her way across to where Sam Strachan is standing near cubicles.

Looking confused, Sam reaches out and gives her a brief hug as she approaches. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here?" he asks gently, taking a brief look at his watch. At least it's after school's finished. "Mum's upstairs, if you're here to see her."

Grace shakes her head, looking slightly embarrassed. "I know she is, remember, she said at breakfast? She's finishing late tonight because she finished so early yesterday…?"

Sam shakes his head and laughs a little in amazement. It's a sign he's getting old, he thinks, at how much quicker Grace is at recalling simple information than he is, at times.

At the workstation, over Grace's head, Sam catches sight of Dylan. Whilst they're still not on good terms – he doesn't think they'll ever be, in all honesty – Dylan no longer wants to bite his head off the minute that he walks into the room. Which is progress. And today, he needs Dylan to retroactively authorise something he's done – done entirely for the good of the patients, of course, but done without permission.

"Er, yes, you're right," Sam replies distractedly. "Look, Gracie, I just need to talk to Dylan for a minute about something quite important…can you go sit in your mum's office for a couple of minutes? I promise I'll be in there shortly."

Grace nods and disappears off towards Connie's office without complaint, and once she's gone, Sam makes his move.

"Dylan," he begins, watching the consultant's shoulders stiffen. "I need to talk to you about something…"

Turning around swiftly, Dylan rolls his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that starting a conversation with _I need to talk to you about something_ and then trailing off is honestly the worst way to start what is likely to be a painful chat?"

Sam smiles, remembering the times he did a similar thing to Connie, until she shouted at him and told him to stop because he was making her more anxious than she was already, before abruptly stopping the smile. Dylan thinks he's smarmy enough already.

"Er, yes, it might have been mentioned," Sam responds, noticing Dylan's attention waning already. "Right, well…I've reanalysed the patient figures for minors, and it's clear that the department would benefit from a slight restructure, equipment wise…so I've moved it all around and shown the relevant staff on shift today. They seem particularly pleased with it."

Dylan's mouth falls open with shock, and Sam thinks this is the first time he's seen him speechless – around Sam, anyway.

"Just when I think I can tolerate you, you do something that makes me question my own sanity," Dylan mutters, rolling his eyes. "Well, I assume you've discussed this with Mrs Beauchamp, which has emboldened you enough to make a change without the relevant authority, so why are we even having this conversation?"

Sam looks away. "I, er, haven't talked about it with Connie. Why would I?" he tries to look confused, but isn't entirely sure how successful he is.

Dylan looks up at the ceiling and then away, shaking his head rapidly. "Connie could do so much better," he mutters, barely audibly, before waving a hand and turning. "Right, just leave it. I'm sure she'll appreciate everything you've done whenever she's next down here. Just…stay over there. Away from me."

 _Connie could do so much better_. It becomes extremely clear to Sam that everyone in the department is aware of the relationship between him and Connie – and that his attempts to deflect onto Henrik Hanssen have failed, miserably.

In their defence, they're five months into a relationship which, other than Grace, two people know about: his mother, and Elliot Hope. Hell, they even live together nowadays – it would be strange if people hadn't noticed. And maybe they should have told people sooner. But it doesn't matter really anyway, because who gives a damn what the department think?

* * *

On her way to Connie's office, Grace stops by the secondary workstation, suddenly aware of the fact that she's the subject of at least five people's gaze. Turning slowly, she sees Robyn, Max, Noel, Alicia and Charlie facing her direction, though at least Alicia and Charlie pretend to turn away when they see her.

Figuring that a chat with Charlie and some of the rest of her parents' co-workers would be more interesting than just sitting in a boring office, Grace heads across to the work station.

"Hi Charlie," she begins with a wide smile. "How are you?"

Charlie turns back to face her and smiles back, as genuine as always. Charlie's definitely her favourite work person.

"I'm good thank you, Grace," he replies. "It's nice to see you – though I suppose it's good that you've not been around here for a while. Stay away from the nasty germs." The last sentence is clearly tacked on, and Grace knows that he's trying to stop her having to think about the numerous near-death experiences she's experienced in her life. Oh well; that part of her life is over now, she hopes.

"Yeah, I've been at school a lot," she explains, "I've got a part in the Christmas play in a couple of weeks which is really exciting. How are you all?"

There's general mutterings from the others that they're good, if a bit tired, and Grace gets the feeling that even if they weren't good, they wouldn't tell her. She's the Clinical Lead's daughter, after all – and, admittedly, a child.

"So…Grace…why are you here today?" Noel asks. "Nobody's hurt, are they?"

Grace smiles and shakes her head. "Nooooo, nothing bad. I just started to walk home from school and realised that I'd left my keys at home," she says, shrugging a bit. "I used to do it _all_ the time…but this is the first time both mum and dad are at work, so I came to get dad's keys."

There's a rapid changing of glances between the staff, and Grace gets the feeling that, if they weren't in a hospital, half of them would be cheering right now. From what she knows about Max and Noel, she's surprised they've managed to stop themselves.

"But…why does your dad have a key to your mum's house?" Robyn asks, sounding confused – or pretend confused, probably. As a budding actress, Grace can just about tell when someone's pretending to be confused (or anything else), and Robyn _definitely_ is.

And it's only then that Grace remembers that her parents' relationship is still a secret at work – she _definitely_ overheard a conversation or two about how Jac Naylor kept pressing mum about who she's dating, and how the department keep making funny looks at dad.

So she's let the cat out of the bag.

Oh well, she thinks swiftly. It's about time anyway. And anyway, these people are _doctors_ – they should be clever. If they can't figure out that her mum and dad are together again, maybe they should go back to school. Because, in all honesty, her mum and dad are the most obvious couple in the world – if she didn't like that the relationship makes both of them happy, she would have disowned them _months_ ago.

"Because he lives there…?" Grace replies, trying to sound equally confused. "I'm sure it's a normal thing for everyone who lives in a house to have a key to it. Unless you're like _two_ or something."

This time, Max can't keep it in. "YES!" he shouts, attracting the attention of everyone passing by. "Sorry," he adds, directing this towards Charlie and his disapproving stare.

"Sorry, Grace, but…are your mum and dad together?" Charlie asks, a smile now on his face. This makes her happy – her mum always talks about how Charlie's approval is important to her, and evidently he likes that they're together.

"Of course," Grace replies, deciding to be a bit bratty. It's fun, sometimes. "I mean, are you all _blind_ or something? I mean, it's pretty obvious that something's going on between them, isn't it? Literally all of my friends could tell immediately – and none of them had ever met my dad before this year." She smiles widely, especially as all of their mouths drop open.

"Aw," Alicia says after a few seconds' pause. "I'm happy for them. Is it nice to have them together, Grace?"

She shrugs. "I don't get away with as much anymore," she admits, causing all of the adults to laugh. "But yeah I really like it. Home feels like home. But my dad said I should wait in mum's office, so I best go there before he thinks I've, like, disappeared. Bye."

Grace turns and walks away, just about able to hear the ensuing excitement and furore at the prospect of her mum and dad being together. Really, it's not that big a deal, she thinks. Why are they so excited about two adults being happy together?

* * *

"Doctor Gardner," Alicia calls through the door of resus two, iPad in hand. After a brief chat with the others about the fact that Mrs Beauchamp and Mr Strachan _are_ in a relationship, Alicia's patient's test results finally arrived, and they're inconclusive. Of course they are. "Have you got a minute?"

Elle nods and walks across the room, taking the iPad off Alicia with a nod of thanks. "Ah…inconclusive, how helpful," she notes immediately. "How's he looking?"

Alicia shrugs a little. "He still seems confused and groggy, but there's no sign of concussion on the scans. His bloodwork is normal – no drugs of any sort in his system – but circulation seems to be a bit dodgy in his legs. Have you ever seen anything like this?"

"Dodgy circulation?" a voice interrupts. Sam Strachan. _Of course_. "May I?"

Without waiting for a response, Sam takes the iPad out of Elle's stunned hands, and begins to look over the MRI and CT results.

Alicia barely manages to resist mentioning anything to Sam about his relationship with Connie – she figures she should let Elle know first and, anyway, now's not a particularly appropriate time. But, strangely, it's as if he knows that the department knows: because, for five months, Sam Strachan has acted like a normal registrar.

Recently, however, he's started to push boundaries. To throw his weight around, and see whether Elle or Dylan will keep him in check. Most of the time, they don't, seeing it as Connie's job to deal with him – both in and out of work. And all this does is make him more and more confident, ultimately culminating in him trying to take over this complicated case.

"Managed to gain an insight for us lowly ED doctors, Mr Strachan?" Elle asks pointedly, after a minute's silence.

"Hm…you might want to take a look at the heart," Sam says slowly, none of his usual swagger. At least when he's diagnosing patients, he takes a break from trying to smother everyone with his ego, Alicia thinks.

But then she can't resist replying, "his heart? Didn't realise the heart caused grogginess and symptoms of a head injury."

Elle just about stops herself laughing by biting her lip; Sam, on the other hand, just smirks. He must be in a good mood, Alicia thinks, for him not to even be fazed by this.

"No, but the heart causes circulation problems," Sam explains kindly, in a completely un-Sam-like manner. "And that might clear up some symptoms so you can work out the head injury. Good luck."

With this, he hands the iPad back to Alicia and walks off towards Connie's office, leaving both Elle and Alicia dumbstruck for a moment.

"Did he really just do that?" Elle confirms, shaking her head in disbelief.

"He did," Alicia corroborates. "But it turns out that him and Connie are _definitely_ a thing. So that could be why."

Elle snorts. "Well, when Mrs Beauchamp does return, if he carries on doing that, they won't be a thing for much longer."

Alicia has to agree.

* * *

"Sorry, Gracie, I got distracted with a patient," Sam says apologetically as he enters Connie's office to find Grace sitting in her mother's chair.

Grace shrugs. "It's fine," she replies, before adding, "I guess I should apologise to mum for always getting mad at her for doing the same thing, because you do it too."

Sam laughs a little and crosses the room, leaning against the desk next to Grace. "Mum understands," he replies, fiddling with one of the pots of stationery on the desk. "But I'm sorry for leaving you. Why are you here though, darling? I didn't realise that was the plan."

"It isn't," Grace admits, looking up from her phone. "I, er, well I forgot my keys again. I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose." She sounds like she's about to cry, and Sam drops down into a crouch, ready to hug his daughter, should she start crying.

"I know, sweetheart," he says, almost in a panic. "I wouldn't have said you had. Look, here's my keys, I'll see if anyone's leaving soon to give you a lift home. I don't want you walking home from here, not now that it's dark."

"But you got mad last time I left my keys at home," Grace mumbles, now having started crying.

Wrapping his daughter in a hug, Sam bites his lip to stop himself crying, too. He's been slightly harsh on her recently, to counter the fact that he let her away with far too much when she only lived with Connie, and he hadn't thought about how a little thing like getting mad about keys might affect an eleven year old.

"I'm really sorry, Gracie," Sam says quietly. "I didn't mean to make you upset before, and I don't want you to be upset now. I've got some patients I need to finish treating, but I should be done in an hour or two, so if you want to stay here and do your homework, I'm alright with that. And I'm sure Dylan will be, too."

Wiping the tears away from her eyes, Grace shakes her head. "I want Mum," she whispers.

"She's in theatre, sweetheart," Sam replies gently, even though he's not entirely sure _where_ Connie is. She could be in theatre – or she could be in the morgue. There's been no communication between them since he sent her a text about Grace's school. "But if you stay in here, I'll get you a hot chocolate and you can do your maths homework, and I'll ring upstairs and see if she can finish a bit early. Is that okay?"

"No, I don't want her to finish work early," Grace retorts, contradicting herself. "It's fine, I'll stay in here. It's cold outside anyway." She makes a weak effort at a smile, and Sam returns it, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"Alright," Sam says, taking a step back towards the door. "Keep the door closed, and _please_ try not to go into HDU or anywhere that you shouldn't be. Mum isn't down here to protect you – or me."

* * *

 _Grace is here, she forgot her keys, are you able to finish any earlier tonight? X_

Connie reads the latest text from Sam and bites her lip, rapidly thinking through the possible options. She's got maybe another hour of work to do on this presentation, so if she leaves straight after that, she'll be down there for the same time that Sam's due to finish. Could that work? After all, she left at three yesterday rather than five, so that she could go to Grace's orthodontist appointment – she can't really leave any earlier than six today.

"Earth to Connie?" Jac calls from across the room, waving a hand in the air. "Are you listening to me? No, I didn't think so. You're actually called Marge Simpson! You're dating Sam Strachan! You're actually a cyborg! _Really_? No response to cyborg?" She trails off, realising that Connie still isn't paying attention.

"I, er, sorry, Jac," Connie says distractedly, frantically typing a text to Sam that confirms she can finish at the same time as him. "What were you saying…oh. You decided to go back to my love life. Moving swiftly back to cardiothoracic exploratory procedures…"

Jac rolls her eyes. "Mentioning Strachan is the only way that I can get your attention nowadays," she explains. "It's like you've got some sort of alert for him."

This time, it's Connie's turn to roll her eyes, as she fixes Jac with a particularly stern glare. "Back to cardiothoracic exploratory procedures," she repeats, turning her computer screen to face Jac. "Which font do you prefer with this background?"

"Why even bother asking?" Jac retorts, stifling a yawn. "We both know you're going to use the one you want. This project is your baby, after all."

"I know," Connie affirms, and turns the screen back to face her. "But it's your department now. I'd appreciate it if you learnt enough from this experience so that _next_ time you need to confirm its status, I don't need to come back and hold your hand for five months."

"No plans to repeat this, mark my words," Jac adds, laughing a little. "Though it's been lovely to spend lots of time with you…I take it we'll be spending a lot more time together in the future though?"

Connie looks up, her expression confused. "What do you mean?"

Jac leans forwards, a glint in her eyes. "Oh, you mean you didn't know? Matteo's leaving – got a better offer from Cardiff; apparently, there he doesn't have to deal with _me_. I don't know why he thought that that was a good thing, but there you go."

"And you think I want to work for you?" Connie laughs, and turns back to the presentation. She's got to get a move on if she's leaving in an hour. "Dream on, Jac. I'm fine in the ED, truly."

"Oh," Jac retorts, sounding disappointed. "That means you don't want to sit up here and plait my hair all day and giggle like teenagers? Damn, that's my plans for an easy ride shelved. Well, if you find anyone who you think would be good for the job, let me know…and if you change your mind, you know exactly where we are…"

"Seven stories above the floor I currently work on, yes I know exactly where you are," Connie murmurs, typing furiously fast. "Right, can you practice your slides – they're on the shared drive. I'd like to make sure that you're capable of _pretending_ to like people to get funding before I decide how much charm I need to apply."

Ten minutes before Connie's due to leave, Jac's phone buzzes.

"Oohhhh," Jac says, munching on an apple as she picks up her phone.

Then she drops the apple and laughs, the sudden noise causing Connie to look up and make eye contact with her.

"You're busted," Jac continues. " _Living_ with him? My, my, Connie Beauchamp, you're a dark horse."

After ten minutes full of Jac asking increasingly personal questions about her relationship with Sam Strachan and Connie ignoring them all, Connie heads out of the Darwin consultants' office and towards the lift which goes directly to the centre of the ED. Time to face the thunder, so to speak; time to see how the masses react to knowing yet another detail about Connie's life.

It's almost disappointing to enter into an almost empty ED; there's one or two nurses at the work station, but they're night shift ones that she hardly ever interacts with. On the full walk to her office, she encounters Doctor Hardy – who looks as tired as ever; she makes a mental note to sit down with him on her next day in the ED and assess his status – and two paramedics she's never seen before.

"Mum!" Grace calls, looking up to see Connie approaching through the window.

Connie smiles and waves as she speeds up and opens the door. "Hello, sweetheart. I hear you've come to be our newest consultant?" she jokes as she enters the office. "Are you alright? Dad said you were upset?"

Grace shrugs. "Yeah I'm fine. I just forgot my key and then I just ended up staying. Is that alright?"

"It's more than alright, Gracie," Connie replies, rounding her desk and hugging her daughter. It's almost like déjà vu, for her to find Grace waiting in her office; however, this time, it isn't her fault. This time, Grace doesn't blame her.

And it's glorious.

"Dad's finishing in a minute – he's just getting changed," Grace adds, then bites her lip. "Mum…I might have sort of told people about you two. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart," Connie says genuinely, smiling as she presses a kiss to Grace's forehead. "You saved us a job – and anyway, it was probably about time to tell them. Especially as I'm back down here in a few weeks."

At this point, Sam pokes his head around the door. He's wrapped up in the jacket Grace picked out for his birthday, and a Ravenclaw scarf which, in Connie's opinion, makes him more handsome than ever.

"Ah, there's my favourite girls," Sam says, smiling across the room. "I guess Gracie's told you about her little chat with Max and Noel?"

Connie smiles and nods. "She did indeed," she replies, looking away from Sam and down at Grace. "I think we need to take her out for dinner to say thank you," she adds, pulling Grace across the room towards the door with her.

"I think that's an excellent idea," Sam replies, and Grace laughs.

"Does that mean I get taken for dinner _every_ time I tell someone that you're together?" she confirms, before shrugging out of Connie's grasp. "I'll meet you at the car, if that's okay, I just want to go and get a drink." Before either Connie or Sam can reply, Grace has already almost sprinted off in the direction of the vending machine.

There's a pause as both of them try and figure out exactly how they want to play this. They're together, finally, in Holby City Hospital; but Connie's never been one for public displays of affection.

"I love you," Sam murmurs into her ear as Connie locks her office door and slips the key back into her bag.

"I love you, too."

She slips her left hand into his, the skin contact electrifying, and they begin to walk towards the door. Over here, there's more members of staff from her team, but nobody tries to talk to them; instead, she can feel their gaze on the two of them, watching their every step.

"Are we really letting Grace choose where to go for dinner?" Sam asks quietly, as they make their way past reception. Half of the team appear to have followed them down here, and it's almost impossible for Connie to stop an embarrassed smile appearing on her face. In fact, it _is_ impossible.

"No," Connie replies, looking across and up at Sam. "I think Lucca's. Where we went when we decided to tell her. What do you think?"

He smiles, and the expression lights up his face, his eyes, his everything. Looking at him, Connie realises she's never loved anyone this much, in this way. She's happy that the team know now, because she's glad she no longer has to pretend that she doesn't love him more than she's loved anyone else. She's even willing to put up with their constant ribbing or questions or unsubtle comments – because Sam Strachan is worth it.

* * *

Please let me know your thoughts!


	8. Statements

Chapter Eight:

 **Hi lovelies! Thank you all so much for your comments so far. I really love reading everything you write, and I love all suggestions too!**

* * *

"So, Mrs Beauchamp – or is it Mrs _Strachan_ now?"

Connie looks up and fixes her younger colleague with a piercing stare. She's barely slept for the past couple of days, and Jac Naylor's strange sense of humour is nothing more than infuriating at the moment.

"Don't be absurd," Connie replies sharply, picking up her mug of coffee. "We're dating, Jac. It's hardly like we're married."

"Dating _and_ living together," Jac amends, leaning forwards with a twinkle in her eye. "Can't forget that caveat, Connie. _And_ you managed to get him moved in before anyone properly knew in the hospital – what a dark horse you are!"

Connie rolls her eyes, and takes a large sip of her drink, wincing a little at the strength. It's good, though. She needs it – for she's been up all night, waiting for the results from the Centre for Excellence inspection yesterday.

She thinks it went well. Actually, she knows it did; she charmed the inspector (who she happened to know from her initial application however many years ago) to perfection, and Jac's input was useful. She outshone everyone within a thousand miles in surgery, and she knew her figures inside out – and, unsurprisingly, she had an answer to literally every question. The night before, she'd made Sam ask her the most random questions about the department, from how many valves are in the heart system, to the importance of proper ventilation within the ward. She was more prepared than ever.

And all she can do is hope that it was enough. It has to be enough.

But now, she has a painful wait until the results come in at around midday – time she has to spend up on Darwin. Well, she amends mentally, she doesn't have to; she wants to. Because no matter how much she enjoys working in the ED, with the strange family down there…Darwin – and cardiothoracic surgery – is her home, where she feels most comfortable. It's where she'll always retreat to, and where she hopes to return to, one day.

Unfortunately for Connie, however, these few hours provide ample opportunity for Jac to ask the deluge of personal questions about Connie's romantic life that she's held in for the past five weeks. After one too many acerbic comments and threats to quit from Connie, Jac decided to put her questioning on hold until after the inspection – which, though a blessing for Connie at the time, she's really beginning to regret.

"So, what's Sam Strachan like as a housemate?" Jac presses, her grin spreading. "Because I totally understand why you're attracted to him…but I just never imagined that he'd be the sort of person _you_ of all people would want to be with."

Connie raises an eyebrow, not sure whether to be flattered or offended. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Shrugging a little, Jac runs her hands through her long hair, tugging out one or two knots. "Nothing against you…I just meant, I never saw him as being particularly deep. I mean, the only thing he really cared about was getting one over on you – no double entendre there – with Grace. That's it. It just seems strange that you're together."

Pursing her lips, Connie shrugs a little, still not entirely sure if Jac's comment was a compliment or not. Probably not.

"Well…there's a lot more to him than meets the eye – and certainly more than I had previously imagined," she confesses. She's told Jac enough; she might as well give her _something_ to share with the hospital gossip mill. "We have a lot in common, I suppose, and there's just something about him. I can't put it into words. I don't even really know what it _is_ , to be perfectly frank." Connie suddenly stops talking, deciding that she's told Jac more than she ever dreamed of revealing.

"You love him?" Jac asks.

"Yes," Connie replies honestly.

"And it's not just because you've got a kid together?" Jac continues, and for a fleeting moment, Connie wonders how much Jac identifies with her situation.

"No," she replies emphatically. "If anything, Grace was almost the reason we didn't do anything."

"Hmmm," Jac adds, her grin suddenly back with a vengeance as she switches subjects. "So, are you actually going to be working with him full time? Because we both know how crazily heated your arguments got up here – can you imagine how bad they'll be downstairs? I mean, you barely managed to keep your heads talking about _paperwork_."

"I think you'll find that Mr S— _Sam_ has improved drastically with regards to the quality of his paperwork," Connie replies stiffly, though with a hint of a smile on her lips. Jac doesn't need to know the compromises she's made with Sam over the past few months to get him to do all of the ED's paperwork; they're probably more explicit than even she wants to know. "But yes, I think we'll be fine. And if not, I'm in charge. If one of us can keep their heads, it's me," she adds, with a small laugh.

Jac fixes her with a stare. "You are joking, right?" she demands. "If I've ever seen a powder keg in human form, you're it, Connie. A very well controlled powder keg – but with the potential to destroy as many people as it takes to sate your anger. So I'll make you the offer again: do you want to take Matteo's job?"

This time, Connie definitely knows she should be insulted. "And I've honestly lost track of how many times I've told you, no, I don't want to return to Darwin," Connie replies sharply, setting her coffee cup down with a bang. She's lying, but Jac doesn't need to know that. "I'll be back when my work in the ED is done, and not a moment before. Why don't you ring Elliot and ask if he wants to come back to Holby?" Connie's well aware that Elliot's insanely happy doing humanitarian aid work in the Middle East, and wouldn't return to work at Holby City unless it was the only place in the world that was hiring, but she can't help but get a dig in about their former colleague.

"Well, the offer's there, if you change your mind," Jac replies, and it's clear that she's drawing a line under the subject that she broached. "So…tell me about the _sex_."

Connie groans, and wonders if the inspection results will ever arrive.

.

The first person she wants to tell about the inspection result is Sam. unfortunately, the first person she _has_ to tell is Jac.

"Well," Connie says slowly, barely managing to keep a smile off her face. "I'm sure you'd like to know the result of the inspection…"

Jac rolls her eyes. "We've passed," she guesses, a smile slipping onto her face. "You'd have stormed out of here in a huff if we hadn't," she elaborates.

Evidently she's easier to read than she had thought, Connie thinks, though she can't be mad. How can she, when she's achieved her goal of maintaining Darwin's Centre of Excellence status?

She finds herself reading and rereading the email confirmation over and over again, trying to make sense of everything in it other than the fact that they've passed.

 _Dear Connie Beauchamp,_

 _This email confirmation serves as the official notification of the results of the inspection of Darwin Ward within Holby City Hospital, Holby, for the continuation of Centre of Excellence status. A paper copy will be sent out in due process, and will be with yourselves within the next two working days._

 _I am pleased to inform you that Darwin will maintain its Centre of Excellence status. The inspection team were pleasantly surprised at the level of experience, and yet willingness to learn and adapt, within the department. This is primarily due to the leadership and efforts of Connie Beauchamp, though a great deal of potential was recognised within Jac Naylor, the department's Clinical Lead._

 _We saw innovation, ingenuity and independent thinking within a strong team, with the patients' best interests clearly at the centre of the treatment process. We see Holby City Hospital as an outstanding place to practice medicine, and hope that the focus on teaching and learning will continue into the future beyond the current administration._

 _With the kindest of regards,_

 _Natalie Williamson_

 _Chief Inspector_

"CONNIE!" Jac shouts in Connie's direction, causing her to jump.

Blinking once, then twice, Connie looks away from the screen towards Jac, her expression perplexed. "Yes?"

Jac rolls her eyes once again, making Connie think that the younger woman could probably get a job playing a moody teenage girl on one of the latest Hollywood productions. She certainly has the attitude.

"I've been saying your name for a good minute now," Jac explains, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk. "What does the email notification say?"

It's exactly at this moment that Connie's phone buzzes, notifying her that someone's ringing her. She doesn't have to glance down at the screen to see who it is: Sam.

"Read it for yourself," Connie replies, the smile on her face spreading wider as she stands up and moves across the office. " _Don't_ read any of my other emails," she adds as she opens the office door and steps out.

"Hello darling," Connie says down the phone, after closing the office door. "How are you?"

She can hear amusement in Sam's voice – alongside a worryingly noisy ED in the background – as he replies, "don't pretend to care about me, sweetheart, you know you're dying to tell me."

There's the widest grin on Connie's face as she strides across Darwin towards the supply cupboard. Unfortunately for her, there aren't many private places on any hospital ward – and she doesn't like anyone overhearing her telephone conversations with Sam, no matter how benign they are.

"Well, we passed, though I know you're not surprised at that," Connie says, taking a seat on one of the cardboard boxes. "And Natalie complimented my leadership in particular, which was lovely although I can't imagine that Henrik will even comment on it when I forward him the email."

Sam snorts, though the background noise soon disappears and Connie can tell that he's stepped away from the department floor. "I think it was the fact that you took the night off last night and _relaxed_ before the inspection that did it," he replies smugly, though Connie can hear the genuine warmth and happiness in his voice. "I'm so proud of you, Con. You really are the best doctor I know."

As they had agreed immediately after the ED inspection, Connie had allowed Sam to help her prepare for the Darwin one. It helped, of course, that he was a fully trained Cardiothoracic consultant and understood inside out every document that she had passed to him to check. He hadn't, however, enjoyed the focus she made him have on paperwork – but he put up with it, because she was letting him get involved and share the burden. He'd made her relax on an evening, not start ridiculously early after a late night, and ensured that Connie had left some tasks for Jac to do, to keep her involved.

And it had worked. She's still not entirely sure that she _would_ have gone overboard on preparing for this inspection, but she has to admit that she's enjoyed the more equal work-life balance in the run up to it. It had been Grace's parents evening for the end of the first term of year six on Monday, and she'd even been able to attend – something which would never have happened a year ago.

"Thank you, sexy biscuit," Connie replies, snorting a little herself as she uses the slightly strange nickname she created for Sam after one particularly intense gym session. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sam responds immediately, "though I thought we'd agreed to keep that nickname for very, very limited use…"

"I just thought that the situation warranted its use," Connie says, her tone intentionally persuasive. "I mean, if you'd rather I _didn't_ use it, I'm sure I could come up with something more…appropriate."

"Very limited use in the _bedroom_ ," Sam adds, correcting himself. Connie doesn't have to see his face to imagine the expression on it: flirtatious and sultry, deliberately drawing attention to his eyes which he knows she can't resist. "Where are you, anyway? I'm guessing Jac isn't in the room…"

Connie blushes. He knows her far too well. "Well you should have _said_ ," she says, closing her eyes and imagining that he's in the room with her. "I'm, er, in a supply cupboard. What time are you having lunch today?"

"Whenever you are," Sam replies immediately, continuing before Connie can interrupt. "I've already spoken to Dylan and Elle and they're fine with me going whenever – I guess that's one of the benefits of everyone knowing we're in a relationship, because the minute I said your name, inspection result and lunch in the same sentence, they just said I could do whatever and come up and meet you."

Though she isn't entirely convinced that this is exactly how the conversation went, Connie doesn't question it, because she's more than happy that she gets to have lunch with Sam Strachan. They've gone for lunch together on the days that she's been downstairs in the ED, and even once or twice when she's been up on Darwin – but this will be the first time that Sam's come upstairs. It's probably the first time he's been upstairs since he dramatically handed in his resignation six or seven months ago.

"I'll let you know," Connie promises, biting her lip. She just wants to see him; really, she doesn't particularly want to wait until lunch. "Love you. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Con," Sam closes, "love you too."

Clicking the button on the side of her phone to end the call, Connie stands up and heads out of the supply cupboard and back to the consultants' office. She's more than happy – she's elated, both at the result of the inspection and simply for having a short conversation with Sam.

For once, both her personal and work lives seem to be in-sync – and going _well_.

* * *

~x~

"Dylan? Are you alright?"

At the sound of Elle's voice, Dylan leans his chair back forwards again and opens his eyes to see his fellow consultant standing by the door to their – no, Connie's – office. He's tired today, and he's also more than a little sad, because today marks the formal end of stepping up to support Connie as Clinical Lead.

It's a sad occasion – far more sad than he had expected to be five months ago, when Connie had initially asked him to step up. Yes, it's been stressful and complicated and, at times, something he regrets agreeing to…but he's seen tangible changes. He's began to understand why Connie's said no to some of the suggestions he's made over the last two years – because they're simply not possible, and actually not necessarily for the good of the department.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Dylan replies, his response a little delayed.

"Struggling to deal with Sam Strachan again?" Elle asks, a hint of a joke in her voice, as she steps inside the office and closes the door.

Dylan sighs, and decides to take this conversation change with both hands. He doesn't need Elle to know about his reluctance to step back down again.

"Absolutely," Dylan agrees, shaking his head a little. "I cannot fathom how he thinks he's going to get away with it when Connie comes back. He walks around the place as if he owns it, just because he does some paperwork! And today, with the lunch thing…I've said it many times, but I do _not_ understand what she sees in him."

Elle smiles, and takes the seat opposite Dylan, stretching her back out. "Because _outside_ the hospital, he's probably slightly more manageable – and he can certainly just about manage her," Elle replies, insightful as always. Dylan's not entirely sure that he would have even started to comprehend the Sam and Connie relationship if Elle hadn't intervened. "And he won't get away with it. He'll either take a step back down when the boss returns, or they'll spend the full time arguing and Hanssen will move one of them. Or maybe they'll surprise us. Who knows – you don't need to worry about it."

Dylan's well aware that he no longer has to worry about it – or, really, ever had to worry about it. But he doesn't share this with Elle; he doesn't feel the need to share with colleagues the fact that he's considering applying for more of a leadership role – either in this hospital, or elsewhere.

"Yes, well, I live in hope of seeing Strachan knocked down a peg – or forty," Dylan sniffs, before standing up. "Well, best get on with seeing some patients; can't have the Clinical Lead coming down and thinking that all we do is sit around…"

Elle smiles, and heads across to open the door, adding, "it's been fun, don't you think?" as she does.

"Acceptably so," Dylan replies.

It's been more than acceptable.

* * *

~x~

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr Beauchamp himself," Jac begins as soon as Sam Strachan enters the Darwin consultants' office. "Or is it still Mr Strachan? It's so hard to keep up with all the developments nowadays…"

On the other side of the room, Connie's frozen for a moment, before she shakes herself out of it. Though she's still not discussed her romantic past with Sam – or, rather, her past before Grace – he's aware that Michael Beauchamp wasn't exactly the best man in the world. Or even a passable human being, to be perfectly frank. And yet the casual mention of _Mr Beauchamp_ by someone who was barely into registrar training when Michael was heading off to prison throws Connie – and it throws her a lot more than she's willing to admit. Because the casual mention will probably stick in Sam's mind, and sometime sooner than later, Sam's going to start asking questions about her life.

And she's going to have to answer them.

Meanwhile, her pause has gone unnoticed, as Sam replies somewhat jovially to Jac, "Ha, very funny. Do you not have enough work to do if you're gossiping about an old hospital romance?"

There's a grin on Jac's face as she replies, "it'll be the topic of the year, I'm very pleased to say. And probably the topic for the next few years – until wedding bells are in the air, of course. How's life down with vomiting teenagers and old ladies who can't walk then, Sam? Bit different from the glory days up here, eh?"

Sam shrugs a little, and makes eye contact with Connie, grinning. "It's one hell of a ride," he admits. "Hundred times more fast paced. Thousand times better – if only for the company."

Connie smiles a little, maintaining eye contact with Sam, as she stands up and heads across the room. "Plus I hear that the Clinical Lead of the ED is _excellent_ ," she adds, more than a little cheekily. "I take it you've let the team know that you're heading for lunch?" Connie continues, directing this towards Sam.

She doesn't quite move close enough to be touching him, deciding that she doesn't want to be so obvious in front of _Jac_ , though she wishes she could. It's been three hours since their phone call, and she's wanted to celebrate with him for every minute. Instead, she's been communicating the news with the Darwin team, hospital leadership, and pretty much every person with any form of an interest in the status – and between every phone call, Jac's had at least three questions ready to fire at Connie about her relationship.

"Of course," Sam replies, his smile taking on more of a personal element to it. It's becoming his Connie smile, rather than the generic (though beautiful) smile he has for the rest of the world.

"Wouldn't want to get in trouble on the last day that the boss is away," Jac jokes, leaning back against her desk. "Unless she takes up my offer of CT consultant, of course, in which case I'm sure you'll be free to wreak havoc on the timewasters in the ED."

Both Connie and Sam shoot Jac an unimpressed glare, though Connie also rolls her eyes. There's only so much of this jibing that she can take, especially from Jac Naylor.

"I didn't realise that Hanssen had relaxed the requirements for Darwin Clinical Lead enough so that someone who _can't listen_ managed to get the role," Connie shoots back, her tone acerbic. Lesser women than Jac Naylor would quake, and all men, too. "The only way I'm returning to Darwin is if I take my old job back – and I wasn't aware that you were thinking of a career change yet. Perhaps a spot of neurosurgery would be enjoyable?"

Jac smiles and looks directly at Sam, crossing her arms. "I've got to admit, you must have a lot of fun together – she's electric…and _so fun_ to wind up!" Jac comments, a smug expression creeping onto her face.

Before anyone can reply, the door opens without preamble, and Henrik Hanssen steps through the door.

"Ah, I didn't realise that we were having a party up on Darwin," Henrik begins, sounding almost amused. "Connie. Jac. Sam."

"Henrik," Connie begins, her tone clipped. "I take it you received my voicemail."

"All three of them, indeed," Henrik replies, a smile slipping onto his face. "For future reference, Mrs Beauchamp, one would suffice."

There's a tangible tension building, until Connie deliberately breaks it by laughing. For once, she doesn't feel the need to fight to assert her dominance. She's achieved her laudable goals by ensuring that the department passed the inspection – whilst also running another department. There's nothing Henrik can say that could dull her mood – she's practically invincible now.

"Duly noted," Connie agrees, more than a little amused by the perplexed expressions on all three of her colleagues' faces. Everyone, even Sam, was expecting a fight. It's nice to know that she can still surprise even Sam Strachan. "Well, I'm sure you'll receive the official letter in a few days, so please send me a copy. I'd like to frame it and place it on the wall."

"I'm sure you would," Henrik retorts. "Congratulations on re-securing the status, Connie. I'm very impressed at your work ethic." Then, as if he hadn't already recognised Sam, he turns his attention across to the other male in the room. "Mr Strachan! It has been a while since I've seen you upstairs – I take it you're here to see the lovely Jac Naylor?"

Sam clears his throat, exchanges a brief look with Connie, and shakes his head. "Actually, the lovely Mrs Beauchamp and myself have a lunch date scheduled. Which we really must get to – it's been lovely seeing the two of you."

With Henrik still blocking the door, however, Connie realises that they aren't escaping any time soon – there's a strangely playful expression on the CEO's face, which concerns her. Whilst she knew that Henrik would be aware of the relationship she has with Sam – nothing escapes his notice, after all – she hadn't expected him to call them out on it.

"Ah, another thing I must offer congratulations for!" Henrik continues. "Congratulations to the pair of you – for keeping things quiet for so long. And for remaining so professional at work, it is _charming_ to see."

Connie blushes a little, and bites her lip. No matter how much she loves Sam, talking about her romantic life is hardly her ideal conversation topic at work.

"Thank you, Henrik," Sam replies for her, sounding as professional as ever. "Connie certainly is charming, is she not?"

Her blush grows wider, as Connie looks up at Sam, silently begging him to stop talking. This _definitely_ isn't how she wanted the conversation with Henrik Hanssen to go.

Across the room, Connie can tell that Jac is ecstatic at the conversation. She wouldn't be surprised if the Clinical Lead had called Henrik and implored him to come at this exact time, just to make it awkward.

"Well, I concur with Mr Strachan, we really must be getting off," Connie interrupts before Henrik can add anything.

A barely contained snort from Sam makes her realise the potential double meaning of her words.

" _To lunch_ ," she adds hurriedly, realising afterwards that the addition makes it obvious where her brain had gone. _Brilliant_ , she thinks, a little irritated with herself.

Henrik smiles, though Jac emits the snort that Sam clearly wished to. "I wouldn't have thought you would do anything else, Mrs Beauchamp," Henrik replies, almost patronisingly. "Far be it from myself to keep you from sharing a few romantic words over the breadsticks, get yourselves off for… _lunch_. I'll catch up with you this afternoon, I'm sure. When you return from _lunch._ "

As Henrik leaves, Connie makes a mental reminder to never, ever even hint at recognising the double meaning of _anything_ in front of Henrik Hanssen. Particularly not with regards to Sam Strachan.

* * *

~x~

Two days after rejoining the ED full time, Connie finally finds time to catch up with Elle and Dylan. Due to the other consultants' days off, Friday is the first day that they're all at work together; indeed, it's almost been a ghost town around the department during the middle part of the week.

It's been harder than she'll ever admit, returning downstairs to the ED. She loves the work, loves being a doctor…but it's not where she ever wants to end her career in medicine.

Plus there's the issue of Sam Strachan…

Even though she's been well aware of her return to the ED being an issue in their relationship since the very start, Connie's successfully managed to push it to the back of her mind in the time that they've spent together over the past five months. She hasn't wanted to sour their discovery of one another by thinking about the potential consequences of a return to the original power struggle between them, right from the very start. He's never taken kindly to _anyone_ telling him what to do, and she struggles to remain patient and calm when her subordinates blatantly flout her authority.

And that is something Sam Strachan continues to do.

It hasn't been horrendous so far, she has to admit – but it's only been two days. He hasn't taken a patient into theatre without her, or ordered a non-approved experimental drug, but he's questioned his day's assignments more than once, and acted as a consultant would with regards to Ethan and Alicia. Plus, he takes more of an interest in the complicated, difficult cases, though she's not surprised at this. He's always been that sort of doctor.

At the same time, she can't blame him. Because, for all his faults, Sam Strachan never went into medicine to work in the Emergency Department. The only reason he's here is for Grace – and, now, for Connie. She's certain that he'd have taken a transfer a few months ago to a hospital in a nearby locality, if it wasn't for the fact that she was entrusting part of her department to him.

She has to be honest with herself: if she was in his shoes, she'd be doing exactly the same. But she isn't, and it doesn't make it any less irritating when Sam continually flouts her authority.

"You wanted a word?" Elle says as she steps into the open office, Dylan at her heels.

Connie pushes all of her irritation with Sam Strachan out of her mind as she smiles slightly, gesturing with her right hand for the other consultants to enter the office.

"Yes, I thought it would be nice to have a more formal catch up about the last few months," Connie replies, her tone bordering on warm. Though neither Elle nor Dylan are the people she'd choose to socialise with, she recognises that they're interesting people – as well as the people who helped her to run two departments for so long. "If you've got ten minutes each, that is?"

She half expects a sarcastic comment from Dylan, but he almost looks happy for this meeting. Is that right? Dylan's definitely surprised her; after the inspection, it's as if any reluctance about running the department went out of him, and he stepped right into her stride. In fact, he's almost operated the department as well as she would have.

"Sounds excellent – oh, is that coffee?" Dylan says, getting distracted by the cups of coffee on the desk.

"I believe I've remembered both of your orders correctly," Connie comments, though she's well aware that she has.

"Why thank you very much," Elle says, taking the seat opposite Connie. "I know it's only nine am, but I think I've developed more than a small caffeine addiction."

"Then you're finally joining the rest of the team," Dylan grumbles. "I take it that that means there'll be no anonymous decaffeinated coffee fairy who changes all of the hot drinks in the staff room in the future?"

Elle blushes, and Connie decides not to press the subject further. Evidently, a lot happened between her team during her absence – and she doesn't necessarily need to be caught up on all of it.

"I must say, thank you once again to the pair of you for stepping up over the past few months," Connie begins, meaning every word. "There's no way that things could have carried on without your assistance – and I understand that the department is operating particularly well. I appreciate all of your efforts, and I hope that the time wasn't too stressful for the pair of you."

"Not a problem," Elle replies, a warm smile on her face. "It was lovely to help out for a bit – though Dylan did most of the work. I'm glad that you didn't stay upstairs."

Raising an eyebrow, Connie says, "staying upstairs? Where on earth did you get that idea from?"

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Connie, there's an extremely efficient rumour mill in Holby City Hospital," Dylan comments dryly, setting his coffee down. "And this rumour mill – as well as discussing your personal life – spread the idea that you'd be taking the departing consultant's role on Darwin. Though evidently that was nonsense."

Connie snorts. "Absolute nonsense," she replies, totally honestly. "I'll return to cardiothoracic surgery once the ED is impeccable. And I certainly wouldn't be returning to work _under_ somebody."

"Yes, well, it's lovely to have you back." Elle changes the subject deftly, leaning backwards in her chair. "I'm sure everything's in order for you in here – Sam spent a good hour tidying the office up on Wednesday." Her expression turns almost disapproving, and Connie waits a moment to see if she'll continue, though she doesn't.

"Ah, I was meaning to ask," Connie begins, hesitating slightly. She turns towards Dylan and continues, "how _was_ Sam Strachan in my absence?"

Before Dylan can reply, Elle jumps in. "Fantastic. Brilliant with paperwork, good with the patients, and worked without complaint. Definitely a member of the team. Definitely a credit to yourself."

Connie's flabbergasted. The ensuing silence from Dylan confirms her suspicion that most of Elle's comments are nonsense.

"Right, well," Connie begins, fiddling with one of the stapled documents on her desk as she just about forces herself not to roll her eyes. "We're not in here to form a Sam Strachan fanclub, Elle. I'm not impervious to his many faults."

Dylan snorts, and Connie makes eye contact with him to see that he seems refreshingly impressed with her response. Whilst she's happy to have formed a sort of connection with her fellow consultant, she's also a little annoyed – though she does her best to hide it. Why would _anyone_ assume that Sam Strachan would get an easy ride just because he's in a relationship with her?

"Excellent with paperwork," Dylan confirms, clearing his throat a little. "Good for the most part – I could just about tolerate him. That was until news of your relationship broke – and since then, he's been pushing his luck, that's probably the only way to politely phrase it. Demanding better patients, swaggering around as if he owns the place…he's definitely more arrogant, Connie. And he needs to be put in his place – and soon."

Connie sighs. "Thank you for letting me know," she replies, biting her lip a little. Though she knows she has to take Dylan's words with a pinch of salt, she can hear the truth reverberating within his comments. "I'll speak with him, make sure that he recognises the hierarchy, and that just because he's a CT consultant, he's a registrar down here."

"I best be off," Elle comments, standing up. "He wasn't _that_ bad, Connie. Though he could do with a gentle reminder that all patients are worth his time?"

"And I should return," Dylan continues, though Connie shakes her head.

"Stay just a moment, Doctor Keogh, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

There's silence as Elle leaves the office, closing the door behind her, and silence continues for another moment or two as Connie assesses the man before her. He's definitely more dedicated – to the bureaucracy of medicine, anyway, as he was always a patients first man – and she can tell that he's the reason that the ED has thrived during her absence.

"Look, before you say whatever you have to say, I just want to say something that I didn't say before," Dylan begins, just as Connie opens her mouth. "Thank you, for before. For after the inspection – _for_ the inspection. I didn't say it before, but I mean it. I'm touched that you left your department with me, despite the incident."

"I actually wanted to say thank you to _you_ , Dylan," Connie replies, smiling a little. "You've done a tremendous job running the department – and keeping Sam Strachan under control, at least until news broke. I understand I have my daughter to blame for that. You should be proud – and looking to advance to lead your own department in the near future?"

Dylan nods slowly, his eyes trained in the far corner of Connie's office. "It is…something that I've considered recently," he admits. "Though it would depend on a suitable job coming up, of course."

"Of course," Connie agrees, though she smiles. "I'll put together a form of CPD for you, so that you can prove that you've got the necessary training, but it's just a formality really. I think that, whenever you're ready in yourself, you'll get any job you apply for."

* * *

~x~

"Mr Strachan, _get out_ _of my resus_!" Connie says, exasperated as she steps back once again to find Sam standing behind her, keen to get involved. She's got a particularly nasty case, after a major RTC on a local road, and she does need assistance – but not from him.

All day, he's niggled at her, wanting a better segment of the department, wanting to work his own cases rather than with another person. They've bickered more than they've bickered for the past five months – and she's hated it. They're nowhere near the hatred and bitterness of before they were an item, but it's still negativity with a person whom she adores.

"But," Sam begins, and Connie turns to him, her expression furious.

"Get out," she repeats, her voice turning cold. "Go to minors, and stay there until your shift ends. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

She watches him walk out for a moment, and her heart swells; she wants him here, really she does.

But she can't.

.

"Sam - my office," Connie calls across the minors department, and notices Sam perk up immediately.

He follows behind her in silence, though thankfully there's no other staff members that they encounter on the way. She already feels badly enough for shouting; she doesn't need anyone else to witness his humiliation.

She closes the door behind him, and they move across to sit on the sofa wordlessly, though as soon as they're sat, Connie takes Sam's hand. He doesn't resist.

"I'm sorry, Con" Sam begins, and Connie stiffens. She wasn't expecting this; though perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. "I need to remember that you're the boss, and I'm just a registrar."

"No," Connie says, surprising herself. She wasn't entirely sure _what_ she was going to say; but this certainly isn't it. "No, you don't need to apologise, darling, because…you shouldn't _be_ a registrar."

Sam looks up, confused, as Connie leans across and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"This isn't working," Connie admits, taking a deep breath as she rubs his hand in a circular motion.

She's silent too long, however, because she can see a heartbroken expression forming on Sam's face, and realises that he's gotten the wrong end of the stick.

"What do you mean?" he asks, crestfallen, his eyebrows drooping, his eyes betraying everything he's feeling.

"I don't mean us – _God_ , no, I don't mean us," Connie clarifies quickly, biting her lip. "I love you, and I can't imagine life without you. But I mean us at work. We're too similar – and you're too arrogant to be a registrar, let alone _my_ registrar again. It isn't working. We're together at home, and then here, and there's no space for us to have stories about the day or vent about the fact that you can't replace the toilet roll when it runs out."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Sam asks, gently extracting his hand from Connie's grasp and instead wrapping it around her shoulders. He pulls her in close, and it's as if they're at home, not sat on the slightly dingy sofa in her office.

"Well, Matteo's left, and there's a vacancy on Darwin, and yes it's under Jac Naylor, but I think Henrik would be willing to offer you some flexibility," Connie begins, "I know it isn't your own department like you had in America, but…it's a consultant role, Henrik is keen to have you, and it keeps you in Holby with me and Grace, but it's your own department. It gives us some space, so that we can still be ourselves at home, but not have to work with each other as well."

Sam smiles, she can feel the movement against her hair, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you," he replies. "I know you want to go back up there-"

"I do," Connie interrupts, pressing a hand against Sam's chest. "But, for now, I need to be down here. After my father died on that trolley…I still can't get the image out of my mind, Sam, and it's been four and a half years. I need to make sure that this department is the best it can be before I can go back to where I want to be. Do you know what I mean?"

Connie realises that this is the first time that she's voluntarily mentioned her father – or pretty much any family member – to Sam in the entire time they've been together. She knows it won't be the last time. But it's the first, and it's voluntary, and she thinks that that counts for something.

"I think you're extraordinary," Sam murmurs, "and I'm lucky to have you."

"You are," Connie agrees. "You're not guaranteed the role, but I personally think it's pretty much a given. Henrik's coming in tomorrow to interview you, and I hardly imagine that that's something he does for just anyone."

"I'm _more_ than lucky to have you."

It seems like the perfect solution for the moment, Connie thinks as she closes her eyes, more comfortable than ever in Sam Strachan's arms. She only hopes that the one loose cannon in the equation – Jac – doesn't turn him down just to spite her.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading this far!**

 **There's still a fair few chapters to go, so please let me know your thoughts :)**


	9. Recollections

Chapter nine:

 **Thanks again for all your comments so far, I really appreciate them! If there's anything you'd like to see in this fic, there's a bit of flexibility in some chapters (as I apparently decided to stop doing detailed planning after chapter ten), so please let me know and I'll see what I can do!**

* * *

"I forgot to say earlier, sweetheart," Connie begins quietly as she lies in bed next to Sam. It's late – probably near to midnight – and they're both ready to go to sleep. "Henrik authorised both of our holidays, so we can book that deal to Greece."

Sounding half-asleep, Sam replies groggily, "that's brilliant, Con…do we need to take Grace out of school?" He reaches his right arm out and pulls Connie closer to his body, which she absolutely doesn't mind.

Even though she could always sleep well alone, something's changed in the last few months. She's now stronger _with_ Sam than without him – because for all his flaws, he's taught her a great deal as well. Just as, she hopes, she's helped him to become a better person – so that, together, they're an unstoppable force.

"No, it's the first week of the school holidays," Connie confirms, closing her own eyes. "You'll have to ask your mother if she'll look after Rufus whilst we're away, though." She shudders slightly at the thought of dealing with Audrey Strachan. Though there've been a couple of short encounters with her in the time since this relationship started, Connie's just about managed to avoid her. Whether that will be as easy in the summer, what with Sam's birthday and the various Strachan family gatherings Sam has hinted at, remains unclear. One thing that _does_ remain constant, however, is the mutual dislike between the women.

" _You_ can ask," Sam replies with a small snort. "He's your dog."

" _Grace's_ dog, darling," Connie corrects him. "I'll let you speak to your mother about it. Wouldn't want to cause an argument over a dog, would I?" Though she knows Sam can't see it, Connie smiles a bitter smile as she remembers the last encounter with Audrey. She'd been taking Rufus out for a run with her, when Audrey had criticised everything from the dog food in her pocket to the fact that Connie was running with him. It hadn't been a pleasant experience – and it had made Connie more than pleased that they had yet to disclose the exact location of their home.

"Okay," Sam concedes, yawning into Connie's back. "I'll book the tickets tomorrow." Silence falls until suddenly Sam asks, "just to clarify…you _are_ divorced, aren't you?"

Connie freezes, and takes a few seconds to reply. She definitely hadn't expected now – a discussion over a _family holiday_ – to be the time that Sam first brings up Michael Beauchamp.

"Yes I am," she confirms, and doesn't ask why he's asking. They might have been together for over six months now, but that doesn't mean that she feels at all comfortable talking about her past – about Michael.

"Then…why are you still using his name? And a married title?" Sam sounds confused, though increasingly awake – which is something Connie wants to avoid. She needs time to plan out this conversation, for having it at midnight when she's ready to go to sleep really isn't ideal.

"It's complicated," Connie replies, sighing. Her eyes are still closed and she can't see Sam, but she can feel a perceptible stiffness forming. He doesn't like it when she keeps secrets from him – just as she doesn't like it when he does the same to her. They made the promise to be open with one another _months_ ago, and yet this entire topic has been a sticking point in her mind ever since.

"Clearly," Sam replies sharply. "Why didn't you just go back to your maiden name? And why _the hell_ did you give Grace his name? What even _is_ his name?"

"Look, Sam, it's late, and I want to go to sleep. Can't we just talk about this another time?" Connie deliberately lowers her voice, realising that their voices had been creeping louder and louder – and they run the risk of waking Grace. And if there's one person she wants to know about her past _less_ than Sam, it's her daughter.

"No," Sam replies forcefully. "Because it's been six months, and I've not asked a single goddamn question about parts of your past because I've assumed that they're difficult to talk about, and I figured you'd tell me in your own time. But you haven't, and _not_ telling me means I don't know about most of your life! And I want to know, Con. But you're not willing to let me in."

"I'll tell you about it," Connie replies, all of the fight taken out of her. She just wants to sleep; she's exhausted, and tiredness beats an argument with Sam any day of the week. "Just not now. Goodnight, Sam."

He doesn't say goodnight back, but at least he doesn't move to the other side of the bed. So, all things considered, it's not the _worst_ argument that they've had.

* * *

~x~

The next morning is frostier than the night before, and Grace picks up on it as they eat breakfast in silence. Usually, there's some hairbrained conversation about the news or Rufus or something as silly as Connie insisting that Sam does their daughter's hair. But this morning, there's absolutely nothing.

"What's going on?" Grace asks suspiciously, as she eats half of her toast and surreptitiously passes the other half to Rufus. Normally, this is the sort of behaviour that would have one of her parents berating her for feeding their dog human food. But not today.

"Nothing," Connie says, just as Sam replies, "just tired, sweetheart."

Grace narrows her eyes. "You're definitely mad at each other."

Neither Connie nor Sam refute this statement; Connie simply says, "Come on, Gracie, eat your breakfast or you'll be late for school."

As they all walk out of the door fifteen minutes later, Connie heading to her car and Grace and Sam heading to his, Connie's never been happier about the fact that she no longer works on the same department as Sam Strachan.

* * *

~x~

It's relatively quiet in the ED as Connie enters at a little before half past eight in the morning, keen to get on with the day's work. She's still angry about the previous evening's conversation with Sam about Michael – both at herself and at Sam. She doesn't understand why he's unwilling to let her tell him about her past in her own time; surely it doesn't make any significant difference, to find out her secrets in another few months rather than today?

And yet, at the same time, she recognises that she's in the wrong. This is a huge part of her life, and she should have been open and honest about it. Michael Beauchamp – and the reason she kept her attachment to him, despite everything he did – has shaped who she is as a person. He's part of the reason that she struggles to form some emotional attachments, why she doesn't let anyone else help her on her way to victory. And it's been more than ten years: she shouldn't let him still have a hold on her life. She _should_ be able to tell Sam…and she does want to, truly.

But part of her worries that he'll look at her differently afterwards, that he'll think she's fragile or damaged – or things that he'll never think she is, but she worries that he _might_ think. Connie's well aware that she should have more faith in Sam Strachan to view her as something other than a victim, but it's harder to think than one might initially consider.

As she opens her office door, Connie sighs. This doesn't feel right, coming to work when she's angry with Sam. It's the first time that they've left the house still angry with one another; usually, their arguments are resolved within hours, if not minutes. All she wants is for it to be home time, so she can see him again – hopefully, if she's lucky, he'll have decided that he doesn't need to press her.

If only life would be that easy.

.

Half an hour later, Connie's ploughing through her incredibly large stack of paperwork and lamenting the day she let paperwork king Sam Strachan leave the ED, when there's a knock at the door.

"Mrs Beauchamp, there's someone here to see you," Noel says politely, taking a step into the office. "Says her name is Drishti Batra, the new registrar for the department."

"Ah, Doctor Batra," Connie says with a smile as the woman follows Noel into the office. She looks nervous, though Connie supposes that this is to be expected. "Welcome to Holby, officially. I trust that the journey was pleasant?"

Pushing her glasses up her nose slightly, Drishti nods. "Yes, thank you, Mrs Beauchamp – ready and raring to get started though," she admits, smiling in the Clinical Lead's direction.

"Should I…?" Noel asks, suggesting perhaps that he should leave, but Connie shakes her head.

"Could you fetch…Doctor Keogh…and Doctor Munroe? Thank you, Noel." Connie asks the receptionist, standing as she speaks. "Lovely to meet you again, Doctor Batra," she continues, turning back to face the new registrar and extending her hand out.

They shake hands briefly, and Drishti takes the seat opposite Connie. Her attention wanders from the desk, and Connie can tell that she's taking it all in, the size and style of this Emergency Department.

As they wait for Dylan and Alicia, they talk about a variety of things: from the latest research into stents, to the best crime thriller books that Connie could potentially take on holiday.

"Ah, finally!" Connie comments drily as Dylan and Alicia enter the office without preamble. "I thought I would have to send a search party to find the pair of you."

Dylan merely fixes her with a stare as he replies, "Noel took thirteen minutes to manage to get the words out that you wanted to see me, Connie, because I happened to be in the men's room."

"For thirteen minutes?" Alicia comments, evidently without thinking, as she blushes as everyone's attention turns towards her. "Sorry," she mumbles, and averts her gaze. Sometimes, Connie wonders if she had ever been like Alicia, in her youth. Potentially – though she'd hidden it better in front of her superiors.

"Doctor Keogh, Doctor Munroe, I'd like you to meet our new registrar, Doctor Drishti Batra." Connie makes the introductions between the three doctors, secretly pleased that Dylan shakes the registrar's hand even if he doesn't make any additional comments. "Doctor Batra has come to us from Inverness, and I'm sure she will be a brilliant addition to our team. Alicia, I'd like you to show Doctor Batra around the department and make her feel welcome; Dylan, I'd appreciate it if you would act as a mentor figure, to help Drishti adjust to the new department and role."

"Of course," Alicia says immediately, though Connie has to fix Dylan with a sharp stare before he nods and says, "very well."

"Excellent," Connie replies, turning back to face Drishti. "Well, if you'd like to go with Doctor Munroe, and she will get you sorted with a locker and tell you where the best places to buy hot drinks are, or whatever the necessary initiation information is nowadays. Please feel free to come to see me with any questions or concerns at any time."

Within a minute, both Alicia and Drishti are out of the office, though the moment that the door's closed, Dylan begins ranting.

" _Registrar_? She barely looks old enough to be out of medical school, Connie! Are you having a laugh?"

Fixing Dylan with her best ice-cold stare, Connie replies coolly, "perfectly serious, Doctor Keogh. I assure you, she fulfils all of my requirements for a registrar. I would have thought you wouldn't have a problem with any registrar replacing Sam Strachan?" Saying Sam's name reminds her of exactly why she's so impatient to get this conversation over with. In all honesty, she hadn't anticipated Dylan having a problem with the new registrar – especially when he's barely said two words to her!

"Oh very clever, mentioning my dislike of your partner to suggest we should just settle for any doctor!" Dylan retorts sharply, his hands on hips. "And _why_ exactly am I mentoring her, Connie? Last time I checked, it was on a voluntary basis – or to be done by the Clinical Lead?"

Sighing, Connie rests her forehead on the tips of her fingers for a moment before she replies; it wouldn't do to be too rude, after all. She really doesn't have time for this, today of all days. Trust Dylan to kick up a fuss on the one day that she's started work in a foul mood.

"Doctor Keogh, do you or do you not want to progress up the career ladder?" Connie asks, almost spitting out each word. "To do so, you have to mentor people – even when you do not necessarily know that person before the mentoring starts. Drishti Batra is an extremely competent doctor, who performed _excellently_ at interview; I am sure that she will become an even better doctor under your tutelage. I would appreciate it if, for _once_ , you could carry out my wishes without fighting me on the matter, because today is not a day I want to be trifled with."

Dylan holds her gaze for a moment, but she can see the defiance drop from his expression and stance within seconds. It's been a while since she's lost her temper at work – perhaps it's a sign to him that, maybe, he should let it go.

"I'll give her a week trial," Dylan replies, almost grudgingly. "If I don't see potential, I'm giving her back to you."

He doesn't wait for a reply before he walks out of the office and, really, Connie's quite glad that he doesn't.

* * *

~x~

"It's been two weeks, and I still don't think I can get used to seeing you in this office," Jac begins a conversation with Sam, breaking the silence which had begun to linger in the Darwin consultants' office.

Now that Connie's well and truly gone, she's reclaimed the desk in the corner, and marked it with a variety of personal effects to highlight how it is _hers_. Not that they're particularly personal, in Sam's view, but it's more emotion than he's used to seeing from Jac. There's even a picture of Emma who, even if not quite as cute as Grace, certainly tugs at Sam's heartstrings any time he sees it.

"Best get used to it," Sam replies drily, typing up yet another patient record. This is the first time that he's actually done any paperwork since his return to cardiothoracic surgery, and he can tell; whilst he regrets leaving it this long, he just needed to get himself back into surgery, get back into the routine of being a surgeon.

He also regrets it today, because his mood is already sour, to say the least. He argued with Connie the previous night, and it's the first time that they've had a sustained argument that has lasted into the following day. It's strange, annoying, and confusing – because he wants to apologise for pushing, but concurrently wants to try and keep up his position until she at least begins to open up.

He doesn't expect her to tell him everything at once. There's forty years worth of history to tell, and it's pretty clear that it's painful. Otherwise, she'd have told him. Something – or a lot of things – must have happened in her past to make her into who she is…and to have locked them away so deeply that no level of trust makes her want to share them without prompting.

If he's being honest, Sam thought that they'd reached the stage where they could tell each other anything. Unless he really digs for something he's half-forgotten, he's pretty sure he's told her almost everything that's happened in his life, even the embarrassing stuff like when he got locked out of his cabin on a ship wearing nothing but a flower headband.

And she has shared things. Connie's been open with him about some aspects of her life – and in those areas, he's sure she has kept no secrets. But Connie Beauchamp _before_ she was Connie Beauchamp…the only things he knows about that is that she's from inner city London, had a problematic relationship with her parents, and didn't go to the seaside. Not exactly stuff to build a life out of.

Well, he thinks, technically he knows a fair bit about her dad, and the circumstances in which he died. That took a lot of digging to get out of various people across Holby, however, and he's almost certain that Connie doesn't know that he knows most of what he does.

"Someone seems distracted," Jac continues, though there's an element of gloating to her voice. "Trouble in paradise?"

If only he could just tell her…sometimes, Jac Naylor actually gives good advice. Whether it's because she doesn't actually care about what she's saying, or because she's a lot more emotionally involved than she lets on, Sam doesn't know. But good advice she gives anyway.

Rashly, Sam decides to say something. Connie might kill him, but so be it. He doesn't know what to do, and maybe Jac can help.

"What do you know about Connie's husband? Ex-husband, I mean?"

He looks up at Jac to see that her eyebrows have shot up, and she almost looks shocked. Evidently, whatever she was thinking, this wasn't what she expected. Knowing Jac, she probably expected news of a secret pregnancy or something sordid.

"I'm assuming you mean her namesake, not the hunky nurse downstairs?" Jac replies, though she appears to have regained a lot of her original composure.

" _Mr_ Beauchamp," Sam clarifies sharply, though he does make a mental note to confirm that Jacob Beauchamp never existed. Connie Beauchamp has more exes in this hospital than patients, it seems.

"Never met him," Jac replies cheerfully, and Sam wonders idly if he would get away with throttling her. "But I have heard that he was a complete and utter bastard. Tried to get our Connie blamed for MRSA or something, I'm not sure on the details. He was a charming psychopath, someone once said to me…and probably messed Connie up along the way. Or maybe she was always like that…who knows."

Sam makes a note to try and find out what Jac knows about _him_ – and also to try and find out her contacts.

"And what's his name?" Sam continues, trying to sound casual. It's hard, though, because he's fuming. From the little that Jac's told him of Connie's ex-husband, he sounds even worse than Sam had imagined. And his imagination had involved a variety of sordid careers.

"You really don't know?" Jac replies, sounding almost shocked. "Well, our Connie is a dark horse, isn't she? Living together and she's not told you the history…well, I say…"

Sam rolls his eyes. " _Name_ , Jac," he repeats, turning away from his Clinical Lead and back towards the computer.

"You're no fun," Jac replies, pouting. "Michael Beauchamp. Hey, when you get married, will you become Sam Beauchamp? It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

It takes everything Sam has not to throw a file at Jac's head.

* * *

~x~

Absently as she stands at the workbench in the centre of the ED filling out a prescription form, Lily thinks that she needs to get coffee. It's been a long shift so far – made even longer by the fact that Ethan's called in sick – and she can't see herself finishing on time. Some form of caffeine is definitely required to make sure that she stays awake.

"Hey," a voice she hadn't expected to hear startles her, and she looks up to see Iain Dean with a welcoming expression on his face. "You look tired."

That immediately gets her heckles up, and she has to fight to stop herself coming out with some particularly catty comment. She doesn't have the time – or the will – for another war of words with Iain.

She has to admit, she's still a little hurt that he didn't press the issue of when she had a bruise on her face a few weeks ago. It's probably wrong that she expected him to – after all, they're still at the awkward impasse after he told her she was an unfeeling cow – but after Charlie and Duffy put the thought in her mind, it proved impossible to avoid.

They've both been off for most of the past few weeks, however, and perhaps that's the reason. He's spent a couple of weeks on a paramedic retraining course in the north of England, and she's taken a couple of weeks of her annual leave entitlement. It was her first kickboxing tournament, and she didn't want to have to explain to every patient and staff member that she hadn't been beaten up, she had just been involved in a tournament.

"I'm fine," Lily replies, a little stiffly, and looks back down at her prescription. Almost finished, and then she can grab a coffee.

"No battle scars today?" Iain continues, sounding almost as if he's joking with her.

It's hard to stop her temper flaring up. He can't just come back into her life, six months later, and try and joke around with her again. It isn't fair – and it isn't nice. Plus, they've not even had a proper conversation in this time; why does he suddenly think that he wants to treat her as if she's a human being again?

"No," she responds in the same voice as before. "I've improved."

There's a moment's silence, and she wonders if he's managed to get the hint that she doesn't want to talk to him, when he replies, "yeah, I guess it wouldn't take you long to master anything you put your mind to."

This almost breaks her, because if this had been six months ago, she'd understand a compliment like this. But Lily Chao has grown up knowing that men don't give out compliments for random reasons, and a nice flippant comment about her abilities absolutely doesn't cancel out an angry tirade assassinating her character.

"Look, is there something you want?" Lily asks him sharply, looking up to see his expression drop. "Because, in case you hadn't noticed, it's busy in here today."

One, two, three seconds pass, and she can see the emotions flit across his face. For all his talents, Iain Dean has never been good at hiding his emotions. First there's the anger, then the disappointment, and then, finally, a deep breath and a smile. Evidently, someone's been working on his anger management.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he replies, his voice surprisingly neutral. "I know it's busy, I just thought you might want to go for a coffee? Take a break from the madhouse for a few minutes, so to speak."

This time, it's Lily's turn to take a deep breath. She's tired, she's crabby – and she doesn't want to throw this olive branch back in Iain's face. She _would_ like to talk to him…for of all the people in this hospital and this department and this town, he's always been the easiest to talk to. And that doesn't say much.

"That would be lovely," Lily forces herself to say, hoping that there's no bitterness in her voice. "Give me five minutes, I'll meet you by the shop?"

Iain's face breaks out into one of the biggest smiles she's seen, and he nods. "Sounds great."

.

She's a little more than five minutes, but Lily's rushing across to the shop when she sees Iain approaching her, two coffees in hand.

"I guessed you hadn't changed your order," he says by way of greeting, as he hands her the larger of the two cups. "Got to get all of the caffeine you can get in this place, eh?"

"Thank you," Lily says, and she means it. Just the smell of the coffee makes her feel a little stronger. "Absolutely…there was a problem with the staff room coffee a few weeks ago, I think it was when you were away…" she trails off awkwardly, not sure if he's aware of the story or if he even wants to make small talk.

"Oh, really?" Iain replies. "What happened?"

And so Lily launches into the story of how someone replaced all of the coffee with decaff – "I mean it was quite obviously not the usual coffee, it was more like a brick than a tub of granules" – and how everyone suspects Elle, because she's always complaining that they're addicted to caffeine. Iain nods along, and laughs a little at the points where Lily sort of phrased things so that he _would_ laugh – and that pleases her for, no matter what's happened between them, she can still make him laugh when she wants to.

The conversation flows more naturally than Lily would have thought, from Elle and the coffee fiasco, to Jez and how he broke the ambulance station's basketball hoop, to how Robyn's dyed her hair five different colours in five weeks and maybe she's going for some form of record in the department.

The only thing they avoid is talking about Connie and Sam – because that topic's too raw for people like them.

It's only as the wind starts blowing harder, making Lily realise that coming outside in the middle of winter with only a cardigan on wasn't the best idea, that they move onto the topic of them. If there is a them, that is.

"Look, I just wanted to say…I'm an absolute dickhead and I'm sorry for everything I said," Iain broaches the subject, as blunt as always, and Lily's smile fades away. "I sort of projected a lot of things I feel about my background and stuff onto you, and sort of just found it easier to blame you for something you didn't even do…because no matter how much I liked – _like_ – you, it was still scary that you did like me back. If that makes sense."

Lily bites her lip and thinks for a moment before responding. "It's okay," she begins, honestly. Because, six months later, his words don't sting quite as much as they once did. "I should be sorry, too. I was insensitive…and you were right. I _did_ report the lady because I thought it would make me look good. And it didn't." She takes a deep breath before she continues, "and I've thought a lot about what you said. I didn't want to but I did, and I've tried to make myself a better person because of it."

Iain looks torn, and silence falls upon the pair for a couple of minutes, though it's strangely not awkward. It's almost comforting.

"No, I was wrong," he argues back. "And what you've just said proves it, because it shows that you're not just stuck in your ways…which I clearly am. I hope you can forgive me, and that we can at least be friends."

"Let's…let's just draw a line under it," Lily says firmly, looking directly at Iain for the first time in the conversation. "It's all in the past now, and we've both learnt from it. Friends sounds great."

"Great," Iain replies. He smiles, and Lily wonders how she managed to survive six months without seeing it: it's as if he's lighting up the world. "Now you can tell me about this kickboxing lark you've got going on."

* * *

~x~

It's late when Connie returns home from work: two RTCs came in shortly _after_ she was due to finish, and she couldn't leave the team to cope on their own. Rather than calling Sam, however, she rang Grace to let her know, who reliably informed her mother that her dinner would be waiting under a piece of tinfoil when she got home, and that she'd see her later – but could Grace potentially go out to see her friend Hannah?

The house is in near darkness when she walks through the door, but Connie can see light peeking out from underneath the living room door. There's the faint sound of a television show – it sounds like the news. Classic Sam, she thinks ruefully.

Though the day's been busy, Connie's mellowed slightly in her attitude towards Sam and his interest in his life. He _should_ know – and she should have told him before now. She just couldn't find the words…but perhaps, now, she will.

She still hesitates before she opens the door to the living room, counting to five to make herself press down on the handle, and she almost bolts as the warmth from the fire reaches her.

"Hey," Sam says, sounding cautious, as he meets her gaze from across the room. "Was work okay?" He's carefully avoiding the subject of the evening before, and Connie almost wishes that he wouldn't. If he wants to talk about it, they talk about it. She doesn't want to make small talk first.

"Horrendous," she admits, closing the door firmly before walking across to take a seat next to Sam on the sofa. He moves across to make room for her, but she shuffles across, so that their bodies are touching. She needs to be close to him, if she wants to tell him. "Look, about last night…I-" she begins, but Sam cuts her off.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, his voice gentle. She looks into his face, and sees that he bears none of the irritation of the morning. "I shouldn't have pushed you about telling me. I know you'll tell me about M—him, when you're ready."

Connie sighs. "You've looked him up, then," she says drily, biting her lip. She's gotten into the habit of doing this at the moment; she really needs to stop. "Might as well admit that you know his name, Sam."

There's a moment's pause before Sam replies. "Yes, I looked Michael up. But I only know what the media knows, not what you know. And if you don't want to tell me now, that's honestly fine, Con."

She's still looking into his eyes, and Connie can tell that he's telling her the truth. But she does want to tell him.

"I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone before," she confesses, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I want to tell you."

She shuffles slightly, so that she's not directly looking into his face anymore, before she starts the story.

"This is just the story of Michael and me, because it'd take years to go through the rest of my life…but we met at university. He was interested in the same modules as me – and he was charming. Addictively so. He liked me and I liked him, even though we both enjoyed fun far too much to be committed to one another, at least at first. Then we settled a bit after university, moved in together, and then got married. And so things were steady - not _good_ but steady enough I suppose – until I moved to Holby, to be Medical Director."

Sam interrupts at this point. "You were MD? Is that why you tried to give me all that advice?"

Connie ignores him as she continues, though she does start to absently draw patterns on the skin of his hand. "Hospital politics were as bad then as they are now, and Michael became CEO to make sure that I didn't lose my job. But then he started implementing cuts and changing things to try and make money – and it was bad, Sam. Someone caught MRSA, and then another did…and he tried to blame me. He always was a manipulative bastard; he could charm the pants off of you, and then be stabbing you in the back at the same time. Used to screw with my head, until I learnt how to do it myself.

"I sent him down, and it was the hardest thing I'd ever done at that point. Now, of course, it's barely a drop in the ocean, but back then I thought my life was over. And then he got out, he came back, and then he went again, and we got divorced. And he's been out of my life for over ten years."

She's silent for a moment, and Sam decides to ask a question. "Why did you keep his name?" There's no anger in his voice, though she can feel his hatred towards Michael from how tightly he's gripping her, just concern.

Connie laughs a little, lost down memory lane, and then replies. "Because Connie Chase was a girl from a council estate in Peckham, who was born with no prospects, an alcoholic father and a manic depressive mother. She fought as hard as she could to escape the pre-destined life where a boy slept with her just so that he could tell the entire school that he did, and the last symbol of that life was the name. Connie Beauchamp, on the other hand, was a world-class surgeon with a reputation across the world. She was the queen of Darwin, infamous across the country. There was no question of going back, Sam. No question at all.

"Plus," she adds, with another small laugh, "I already had the personalised number plate. I didn't want to get another one."

Sam takes a scarily long time to reply, and Connie's about to say something when he speaks. "I'm so sorry," is all he says, reaching over and pressing kiss after kiss to her cheek. "I should have found out before, I shouldn't have been such a twat when I worked for you…"

"Really, it's fine," Connie murmurs, subtly wiping a tear from her eye. "You didn't know, and I didn't tell. I can hardly expect you to have found things out about a man whose first name you only discovered this morning."

"I can't believe he did that to you," Sam mutters, though his voice has taken more of an angry tone. Connie can't quite believe that he cares so much about her that he's angry about events of twelve years ago. "Absolute bastard. And manipulating you…controlling you, just because of who you were before…"

"No," Connie interrupts, almost sharply. "He didn't control me because I used to live on a council estate, Sam."

"But he knew that he could get away with doing almost anything and you would ignore it, because you didn't want to go back to how life was like before you knew him," Sam retorts. "What a bastard. If I see him, I'll kill him. It's only because you're as strong as you are that he didn't destroy you."

He _did_ destroy her, at least in part, but Connie doesn't feel the need to clarify that to Sam.

"I'll kill him," Sam mutters again, and Connie shakes her head.

"Sam, sweetheart, Michael hasn't even been in England for about five years," she says, almost pacifyingly. "I sincerely doubt he's going to repeat 2006 and come and ask me if I want to leave the country, or have a baby with him. You really have no reason to prepare for a fight."

The silence that falls seems shocked, and Connie looks up at Sam to see that his expression is shocked, though increasingly turning to anger.

"HE ASKED IF YOU WANTED TO HAVE A BABY WITH HIM?" Sam shouts, and Connie rolls her eyes. Whilst it's an emotionally charged subject, she's pretty certain that _she_ should be the one who can't control her emotions. Then again, Sam always did have the emotional control of a teenager. "Jesus Christ, Connie! What?"

"Shhh," Connie mutters, "Grace will hear!"

" _He asked if you wanted to have a baby with him?"_ Sam repeats, though at a much lower volume. "And this was _after_ the manslaughter charge?"

Connie shrugs. "Yes. I mean, obviously I didn't, so I'm not sure why it's a topic of conversation."

"Because he almost got you arrested for manslaughter, and then asked if you wanted to have a child with him, Con! It isn't exactly normal behaviour. _Why_ did he think you would want to?"

"Michael never was a normal man, Sam," Connie replies. "And…he knew I wanted a child. It had been something we'd started to talk about, before everything kicked off. I mean I always knew that having _his_ child wouldn't be wise, but…he was there, and at least semi-sane. It could have been worse."

"Connie, the man tried to stitch you up for murder! I'd hardly put him in the sane category."

"It was manslaughter, there's no need to overreact," Connie corrects, though an involuntary shudder runs through her. Just talking about this topic isn't enjoyable, no matter how blasé she might try and appear. "And I said semi-sane, before I realised that it wasn't a good idea, that I didn't want to leave Holby. So Michael left, and I didn't, and then a little while later, you came along."

Just before Sam can reply, a noise in the doorway startles both Connie and Sam; they look across, and see a worried looking Grace standing there, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Mum?" Grace says quietly, her voice sounding scared. "Who's Michael?"

Immediately, Connie jumps up and out of Sam's embrace and leaps across the living room, so that she's standing in front of Grace. Within seconds, Grace is wrapped in her arms, and it's all Connie can do to stop herself from crying. Whenever she talks about Michael, she remembers that for all the what ifs and could have beens about a move to Sweden, if she had, she wouldn't have Grace.

And she wouldn't change all the heartache and pain and realisation of how far Michael Beauchamp had affected her…because without it all, she wouldn't be standing here with Grace.

After a few moments, Connie stands up again and puts her arms around Grace's shoulder, bringing her along to the sofa. Grace jumps on without a word, the same worried expression on her face, even as both Sam and Connie wrap their arms around her. A family unit, forever and always.

Realising she hasn't answered Grace's question, Connie takes a moment to think of a child-friendly version. "Michael…Michael was a man from my life before you were born, sweetheart," she begins, realising that although she had told Grace that she had been married before she met Sam, that was as far as her knowledge went. "He'll never be back, so you don't need to worry."

"But…Dad said something about you having a baby with him?" Grace whispers, and as she meets her mother's gaze, Connie sees the tears forming. "Are you leaving?"

Connie could punch Sam right now. "No, sweetheart, I would never leave you or your dad," Connie replies honestly. "This was all before you were born, it's things I should have told your dad sooner, but I didn't…because this man hurt me, and I didn't want to talk about it.

"But like I tell you, we should always talk about the things that make us upset or mad, because otherwise they don't go away. They just stay there."

"Where is Michael?" Grace asks.

"He's somewhere far, far away, Gracie," Connie whispers, leaning across and pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "And he's never coming back. Your dad was just overreacting before." She looks up and makes eye contact with Sam, who at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

"So Dad's just being dramatic again?" Grace confirms, a little bit of a smile forming on her face. "Nobody's leaving?"

"Nobody's leaving," Connie and Sam recite in unison, their gazes still locked upon the other.

"Sorry to have worried you, sweetheart," Sam says to Grace, ruffling her hair up. For once, she doesn't complain. "Your mum is very brave and strong, and better than everyone in the world."

"I know," Grace says, smiling properly now. "You're both the best."

Whilst it's not the whole story – or even the end of this part, as Connie's certain that the fact that Michael wanted to have a baby with her won't leave Sam's mind any time soon – Connie's glad that, finally, there's someone in her life that she's willing to talk to about Michael. About her past.

It's not perfect, but it's a start.

* * *

 **I really, really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope that you all enjoy reading it!**


	10. Accidents

Chapter Ten

 **Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up; I'm working a ridiculous amount of hours this week!**

 **Please leave reviews if you read :)**

* * *

"You looked beautiful today," Sam says as Connie stands by the bathroom mirror, wiping her makeup off to go to bed. "I mean, you always look beautiful…but you looked extra beautiful."

An involuntary smile creeps onto Connie's face as she turns to look at Sam, who's half leaning out of the bed so he can see her face. "Was that before or after Rufus dragged me through the mud, darling?"

"The entire time," Sam replies quickly, smiling the smile he reserves for Connie alone. "Though I have to say, I _did_ love the look of sheer panic as you were dragged through that field of cows. Who would have thought that a one year old puppy could be that strong?"

Connie laughs, and the spell is broken; she's no longer transfixed by Sam's sultry gaze, and can continue getting ready for bed. "I think you're feeding him too much, I blame you."

"Should have seen that one coming," Sam retorts, groaning. "Today's been a good day, a fun day. Remind me why we go to work again?"

Jumping onto the bed next to him, Connie moves so that she's leaning over Sam's torso. "Because at work we learn the terminology so that we can play doctors and nurses accurately…" she shoots back, a sparkle in her eyes. There's a half-smile, half-laugh on her lips, and she's lost in the moment entirely.

"Screw accuracy," is all Sam says before he pulls Connie down to kiss her.

* * *

~x~

"Ah, Mrs Beauchamp, you seem in _excellent_ spirits this morning," Henrik Hanssen comments as he enters the open door into Connie's office the following day. "Is that _humming_ I hear? My, you really must have something to be pleased about."

It's only at that point that Connie realises that he's right; she has been humming. For how long, she doesn't want to know.

Fixing Henrik with a relatively stern stare, Connie replies. "Yes, well, the department is looking excellent at the moment, Henrik. Surprising how well it does when it actually has its Clinical Lead around."

"And when said Clinical Lead isn't engaging in perpetual arguments with one of her registrars," Henrik shoots back, closing the door as he moves across to sit opposite Connie. "Though I suppose he has gone now, how is his replacement, Doctor…Batra, is that correct?"

" _And_ when the Clinical Lead is given the opportunity to appoint her own staff, rather than have the CEO impose them upon her," Connie retorts, keeping her voice steady. Whilst it's always nice to have a battle of wits with Henrik, she does actually need a favour off of him; perhaps it would be wise to keep him at least vaguely on side. "Doctor Batra appears to be settling in well…of course, it has only been a fortnight, but I am confident that she is a competent team player."

"Excellent," Henrik replies, conceding the argument without as much as giving a hint that he has. "I have to admit, I was slightly intrigued to receive your email yesterday, Connie. It is _oh so_ rare that I receive a summons to the ED."

Connie smiles a little, the dimple in the corner of her cheek moving as she does so. "Well, I would hardly have called it a summons, Henrik, there's really no need to exaggerate." Picking up a piece of paper on her desk, she motions with the same hand for Henrik to sit down. "I'm surprised you haven't taken a seat already. Are you a changed man, Henrik?"

Rolling his eyes, Henrik takes a seat, unbuttoning the top of his suit jacket as he does so. "Well, for the next fifteen minutes, Connie, I am all yours." Laughing a little at his own joke, Henrik clarifies, "well, not _entirely_ yours. I'm sure that Mr Strachan would have something to say about that, after all."

It's at that moment in particular that Connie regrets her choice of words a few weeks prior, when meeting with Jac, Sam and Henrik.

"Yes, well, I'd like to discuss the possibility of applying for Centre of Excellence status for the Emergency Department, similar to Darwin," Connie begins, jumping straight into the topic. "Obviously, I'm well aware of the hoops you have to jump through to achieve such status, and I think that it would be advantageous-"

"As far as I was aware, the ED already _has_ Centre of Excellence status, Mrs Beauchamp?" Henrik interrupts, a small smile on his lips. "Your predecessor's predecessor, Nick Jordan, saw to that."

Connie purses her lips at the sheer mention of Nick Jordan: a maverick to the extreme, he had threatened her hospital more than once. "Mr Jordan _commenced_ proceedings to gain the status," Connie clarifies, "but he did not complete the formal paperwork. Which, as I'm sure you're _quite_ aware, was always his downfall. And the lack of paperwork meant that, unfortunately, all of his efforts went to waste."

"Ah," Henrik responds, his expression becoming concerned. "That is a small problem…as, historically speaking, the ED has been referred to as a Centre of Excellence within the Board minutes since Mr Jordan's tenure." He sounds almost pained to be admitting to a mistake – though, of course, not _his_ mistake – but Connie doesn't press it home. She needs Henrik on side.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that I intend on resolving this problem – by claiming the status for the department in its own right," Connie says, handing over the piece of paper in her hand to Henrik. "You'll find my outline for how we can gain this status, along with the required personnel, training and support from other departments, in this document." She smiles sweetly, too sweetly for Connie Beauchamp, as she adds, "and I've sent you a copy to your email. _And_ your secretary's email. After all, we all know how…problematic you can sometimes find paper copies." She's referring to the document that she handed to him three months prior, midway through her time supporting Darwin, which had needed his signature immediately. It had taken three weeks for him to admit that he had, indeed, sat it down next to a sink in the male toilets.

"I shall give it my most full attention," Henrik promises, taking the proffered document. "Though I'll probably delete the email – you _are_ a fan of sending a lot of emails, are you not?"

Connie shrugs a little, and leans back in her seat. Henrik clearly isn't going to fight her on her proposal – especially as she's fixing a mistake for him in the process. It might be a fight to get the additional funding required to sustain her effort, but that's clearly going to be a fight for another day.

"I like to ensure that nobody can pretend that I haven't passed on the relevant information, Henrik," Connie clarifies, fixing him with a half-stern, half-amused expression. "And you all send _me_ so many emails, it's nice sometimes to reciprocate in kind."

"Indeed," Henrik responds, standing abruptly. "Well, I had best be getting on – meetings on Darwin to attend, and the such. I'll pass your best onto Mr Strachan, shall I? Or will that not be necessary?"

Her expression becomes embarrassed, though Connie does her best to avoid it, and Henrik laughs. He's figured out how to get under her skin – and she doesn't like it.

"Do as you will," she replies off-hand, doing her best to seem unconcerned. " _Do_ pass on my regards to Jac Naylor, however. I do hope she's looking after my desk."

"I shall pass on every word," Henrik promises, though Connie can't say that she believes him. "Good day, Mrs Beauchamp."

* * *

~x~

In the almost year since Cal's murder, there are some days which are good days for Ethan Hardy. There are also some days which aren't good days.

And then there are the days that are in between. The days where he's glad he's at work, because it's something to do and he's surrounded by friendly faces, but he also sort of wishes he wasn't – because he still expects to see Caleb Knight walking out of the staffroom in his off-grey scrub shirt, coming to tell him about some ridiculously pointless occurrence.

It's strange, too, seeing another doctor working in Cal's registrar position. Well, Ethan thinks sharply to himself, it was never Cal's. Another doctor had it before him, and it makes sense that another doctor has it after him. Technically, it's the second doctor to have the role after him – though Sam Strachan never _quite_ seemed like a registrar to Ethan.

Drishti Batra seems alright, Ethan thinks. Definitely younger than he is, and even more accident prone too, but a good doctor and an interesting person. They've worked almost all of their shifts together over the two weeks that she's been here, and they've had a good laugh at the workstation in between Dylan dragging her off to deal with interesting cases.

And when she's off dealing with the interesting cases, Dylan's muttering about how she doesn't do things properly, and how he has a lot to do to make her into this great doctor like Connie wants, because she can barely follow the simplest of instructions.

Whenever he starts spouting off, however, Ethan simply reminds him that it's Drishti or Sam Strachan. That soon shuts him up.

"Ethan."

Ethan looks up to see Max standing on the other side of the workstation, his head resting on top of his folded arms as he stares intently towards the junior doctor.

"Max," Ethan replies, politely. "How can I help?"

"Just wondered if you'd put a bet on yet?"

"A bet on what?"

Max sighs. "How long the new doctor's going to stay, obviously?"

Confused, Ethan feels his forehead furrow. "What do you mean? I didn't realise that there was any doubt over her staying? Mrs Beauchamp has only spoken highly of her so far."

Rolling his eyes, Max stands up and leans across the desk, almost conspiratorially. "Well, yes…but I've heard rumours that Doctor Keogh hates her. Keeps giving her the hard cases and then complains that she can't deal with it. Bets are that she won't still be here when Mrs B jets off on that fancy holiday in a few weeks time."

Ethan laughs a little. Of course Max would refer to the Clinical Lead's holiday plans in his bets on another member of staff – it had been the topic of betting for at least a week, where Mrs Beauchamp was heading on holiday that yet. Or, rather, it had been, until Connie had gotten wind of it, snapped at Max and shut the whole thing down, before announcing that they'd all been wrong and the Beauchamp-Strachan family were off on a cultural holiday to Greece and the nearby islands.

"You know, I really don't think that that's fair," Ethan replies, a little cautiously. "Drishti's a great doctor, and Dylan definitely sees that. He's just pushing her to be the best doctor. And I think he likes her more than he's letting on. I don't want to bet on whether or not she quits."

"Suit yourself," Max replies, before his expression brightens. "So…would you bet on her and Dylan being a thing?"

"No," Ethan says, shaking his head. "I don't want to bet on her, period. Sorry."

Max disappears without another word, and Ethan almost regrets sounding harsh. Especially as the conversation had distracted him from the main thing on his mind that day.

The fact that, in his top pocket, is confirmation of the court date for Scott Ellison's trial.

* * *

~x~

"Hello, Mrs Beauchamp," Connie answers her mobile phone tentatively, after receiving a call from an unknown landline. It's a Holby area code, but she hadn't expected any calls. Especially from a landline; she can count on one hand the number of people she knows who actively use their landline.

"Hi Mrs Beauchamp, it's Francesca Wood from Holby Grammar," the unfamiliar voice from the end of the phone says, and Connie's heart drops. Grace. "I'm just calling to inform you that Grace has had a bit of an accident at school today."

"What? What's happened?" Connie can hear her voice going up and up, and it's a struggle to make herself breathe properly. She's glad that she's in her office, alone. "Is it the epilepsy?"

"No, no, not that at all," Francesca says reassuringly. Not particularly reassuringly to Connie, though. "She was playing with her friends in the playground and slipped on some of the leaves at the back of it. We think she might have broken her ankle, so there's an ambulance on its way to take her into St James's."

Counting to three before she replies so that she doesn't curse this Francesca Wood for being _wholly_ incompetent, Connie takes a deep breath. "Right, is she in pain? Because you know that they can't give her any analgesia, on account-"

"On account of her medication, I know, Mrs Beauchamp. I'm aware of Grace's record."

Connie wants to punch this woman.

"In that case, I'm sure you'll be planning to tell the ambulance to divert to Holby City Hospital, as both of her parents work here," Connie spits out. Oh, Grace. She had thought all of this was behind them – but once again, Grace is coming into the Emergency Department as a patient.

"Ah, I-er, of course I will." It's a small bit of satisfaction to have unnerved the voice at the end of the phone, but Connie doesn't smile. How can she, when Grace is injured? "She should be in within the next half an hour, Mrs Beauchamp, just to make you aware. I'll let you get back to work."

Connie doesn't even bother saying goodbye; instead she hangs up and calls Ambulance Control, and requests that they prioritise the ambulance heading to Holby Grammar. Just the mention of the Beauchamp name has the dispatcher confirming they will make it a priority – though whether that's because of Connie's reputation, or simply the sheer number of times Grace Beauchamp has been in an ambulance, Connie has no idea.

She tries ringing Grace's mobile, but it goes straight to answerphone. Stupid school, allowing students to have phones as long as they're turned off – what's the bloody point?

Then, she tries ringing Sam, but gets the same result. His voicemail, usually so reassuring, makes her want to punch a wall or cry or _something_.

Every passing second seems to take an hour, and her mind is clogged and foggy with the uncertainty of what to do. What should she do? How can she while away the time before Grace appears?

Taking a deep breath, Connie picks up the phone in her office, and dials the familiar extension to the Darwin consultants' office. After a few rings, someone picks up.

"Jac Naylor."

"Jac, it's Connie," Connie begins, trying to calm herself down. She doesn't need Jac to know how stressed she is. "Is Sam around? He's not answering his mobile."

"Unable to go a whole day without talking to each other? That _is_ love," Jac replies, almost mockingly.

"This really isn't the time to mess around, Jac," Connie replies, hearing how fraught her voice is. "Grace has been in an accident."

"Is she alright?" Immediately, Jac's tone changes. "He's in surgery – just gone in with an emergency triple bypass, and I've not got anyone who I can swap him out with."

Connie sighs. If he's just gone in, he could be anywhere from four to six hours – and that's without the complications inherent in emergency cases. _Damnit_. No matter how strong her relationship with her daughter is now, there's something about illness and accidents that makes Grace want Sam more than ever. She had flu over the Christmas period, and the person who primarily looked after her was Sam. Whilst Connie doesn't resent Sam for this, it certainly complicates things now.

"Oh, er, they think she might have broken her ankle, but that's probably the school just being overcautious, what with her history," Connie replies distractedly, her mind filled with the thoughts of triple bypasses, and whether or not she knows any techniques that could help Sam get out of there faster. "Don't let him know, Jac. I don't want him rushing it to get out to her. We'll sort something."

"You got it, chief," Jac replies, no hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to get Grace seen faster."

"Will do. Thanks Jac."

And now all Connie can do is wait.

.

It's a relief to see that the team bringing Grace in is a familiar one – Iain and Jez, though the latter seems to be more focused on making Grace laugh than actually doing any form of paramedic work.

"Sweetheart!" Connie calls, dashing over to the other side of the trolley. "Are you alright?"

Though her face looks a little tense, Grace nods. "I'm fine, Mum. it's just my ankle."

"Tell me everything," Connie adds, directing the statement towards Iain. "Sweetheart, you're going to be fine, honestly." She turns her attention back to Grace, who nods.

"I know, Mum," Grace says, and for a brief moment, Connie thinks that it's as if Grace is trying to comfort _her_.

"I, er, you're not the lead doctor on this case are you, Mrs B?" Iain replies hesitantly. "Because, obviously-"

"Of course not," Connie snaps, rolling her eyes. Is there something about her that makes people think she's suddenly an idiot just because her daughter is a patient? "Doctor Hardy will lead – Doctor Hardy, with me please. Now, the details?" Turning, she can just about see Ethan standing at the reception, though thankfully he doesn't protest that he's too busy.

"Ah, Grace, it's been a while," Ethan says, a small smile on his face as he greets the young Beauchamp. "Been in the wars at school, have we?"

"I fell over and hurt my ankle," Grace replies, looking away from Connie and towards Ethan. "It isn't _that_ bad, I don't know if I even really need to be here."

"No, no, of course you do," Ethan says swiftly, before Connie can get a word in. "If we can have Grace in cubicle four please, gents, that would be brilliant. I'll be through in a moment." When he can clearly sense that Connie's about to interrupt, Ethan turns to look at her and adds, "I've just got to discharge a patient to keep to the four hour rule, Mrs Beauchamp, but I promise I'll be straight in after that."

Connie nods slowly, and forces herself to breathe. There's something about Grace being ill – even though it's just an issue with her ankle, it's as if the world's going to end.

She keeps a tight grip on Grace's hand as her daughter is transferred to the bed in cubicles, though she does let go temporarily so that she can set up the monitoring equipment. Whilst not strictly necessary for a fracture, Connie's not taking any chances with her daughter's safety – and there's not a single person in this department who would fight her on this. With the exception of Doctor Batra, they were all here when her car flew off the cliff – and when the helicopter crashed outside afterwards. They all know exactly how much Grace means to Connie.

"Mum, do I really need this?" Grace asks hesitantly, as the familiar noise of a heartbeat fills the room. At least it's in sinus, Connie thinks, even though it is a little fast for a girl of Grace's age.

It takes everything in Connie's power to stop herself being the doctor – and the cardiothoracic surgeon – and sit down next to Grace to be her mother.

"Yes, sweetheart," Connie replies, reaching out and smoothing her daughter's hair. "We don't want any complications or anything, do we?"

Grace rolls her eyes. "Mum. It's a broken _ankle_. It isn't like I've fallen down some stairs or anything."

"Hush," Connie says immediately. "Don't tempt fate or anything, _please_ , Gracie."

Before Grace can reply, the curtain opens, though it isn't Ethan.

"Mrs Beauchamp, I know you're busy, but can you just-" Alicia Munroe begins, proffering Connie a piece of paper on a clipboard.

" _No_ ," Connie spits back, her voice harsh. "I can't. Find Doctor Keogh. And if anyone else comes in here, I'll send them home immediately!" Her voice raises slightly, and it takes one, two, three breaths to get her heartrate back to normal. Perhaps it's _Connie_ who needs the monitoring.

" _Mum_ ," Grace says, sounding shocked as Alicia walks out without saying anything. "That wasn't polite."

Looking back at her daughter, Connie does her best to smile a little, though she feels that it must be pitiful at best. "I'm here for you, sweetheart, not them," Connie replies, gripping Grace's hand tighter. It's hard, seeing Grace in here again, harder than she thought it was going to be. "I told them that I'm out of work for the rest of the day, okay? So nobody should bother me."

Grace nods, though she doesn't look entirely convinced. And there's something else in her expression – something that Connie can't quite place. Concern?

"Where's Dad?" Grace asks, and Connie's heart sinks. They've only been here five minutes, and Grace already wants Sam.

Biting her lip, Connie looks directly at Grace as she replies. "He's just gone into surgery, darling, it'll be a few hours before he gets out. I'm sorry."

"But…" Grace trails off, and, for the first time, she looks scared. "I want Dad."

Nothing makes Connie's heart sink faster than those three words. _I want Dad_. Because no matter how well they're getting on at the minute, Sam Strachan is still the parent that makes Grace feel safe.

.

Fifteen minutes later, Ethan finally makes an appearance, though Connie just about manages to stop herself commenting on his delay. It isn't effective, and she knows how frustrating it can be as a doctor.

Ethan almost looks surprised at Connie's silence, but he gets straight into treating Grace, feeling her ankle and asking her all the usual questions. Well, not all of them. He – like most of the department – is aware of Grace's medical history, and doesn't need to clarify half of the information.

"I'd like to send you up for an x-ray," Ethan says, his brow furrowed. "I _think_ it's just a nasty sprain, but I'd like to get confirmation. It will be a bit of a wait, because there's been a few problems today, but I'll get you in as fast as I can."

As soon as Ethan's gone, Grace turns to face her mother and asks, "Mum? When is Dad getting out of surgery?"

It hits Connie again, and she has to take a deep breath before replying. "I don't know, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Can you find out?" Grace asks, her voice taking on the almost panicked note that Connie has associated with illness in the past. Almost correspondingly, Connie finds herself more and more unable to breathe, spiralling into the thoughts of _what if_. What if the lift breaks down when Grace is in it and she has a fit without any medication? What if she _does_ fall down the stairs?

"I'll ring him," Connie mumbles as she almost runs out of the cubicle, stumbling on the way. She can feel the tears forming in her eyes, and she does her best to avoid eye contact with the members of staff she encounters on her way to her office.

Slamming the door to indicate to everyone _not_ to enter, Connie slumps down in her office chair. How can she do this? Why is she overreacting? Normally, if anything, she's always underreacted to Grace's illnesses. And now, she's the overanxious parent who practically wants to bubble wrap their child to prevent them getting injured!

Dialling Jac's mobile directly, Connie only has to wait two seconds before Jac answers.

"He's still in surgery, sorry, Connie," Jac says by means of introduction. "Last I checked in on him, he'd done one artery. Zosia's in with him, and I'm assisting Hannah with a heart transplant as we speak."

"Right," Connie replies, wiping her eyes with left hand. "Though, if it comes to it, do you mind if I swap out with Sam?"

There's a moment's pause before Jac replies. "If that's what you want to do, sure thing. I'm sure you'll get it done faster than he will, anyway. But I really think that Grace would rather have you there with-"

Connie hangs up the phone before Jac can finish her unwelcome advice.

She sits in her chair for another minute, trying to regain her steely composure, before she returns to Grace. The youngster, once again, looks concerned as her mum reenters the cubicle.

"I'm sorry, Gracie, but he's still got half the operation to go," Connie says, doing her best to sound cheery. "But I'm here, isn't that okay? I can get us some magazines and a drink and some chocolate?" Though maybe not the drink and chocolate, just in case something _does_ happen, and they have to intubate…

"I want Dad," is all Grace says, and it takes everything Connie has not to erupt with anger. _Why_ isn't she enough?

Will she ever be enough for Grace?

* * *

~x~

"No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ ," Dylan says sharply to Drishti as he watches her insert a stent into a patient's arm. "Too slowly. You need to put a lot more force-" he stops talking, as Drishti completes the method.

"I learnt how to do it a slightly different way," Drishti explains, checking the stent's position before she removes the guiding wires. "So now, I'll check the patient's heartrate and blood pressure, and see if it has taken effect."

"You need to do things _my_ way," Dylan replies, ignoring the looks passing between Charlie and Duffy. They want to have an opinion? Go to medical school. "If you want my tutelage, you need to accept that, in _this_ ED, things are done in a particular way."

"Doctor Keogh," Drishti says, looking towards Dylan for the first time in about ten minutes. "I put the stent in. The patient's improving. Isn't that what matters?"

She has a point, but Dylan is unwilling to concede that easily.

"Who taught you to do it that way, anyway?"

"Doctor Williams in Edinburgh General. She taught me a lot of things."

"Well, Doctor Williams should try inserting things the proper way. I'm guessing she's taught you a lot of other things wrong, too."

Drishti laughs, and it's only then that Dylan realises that she's standing only a metre or two away. Not particularly close, but closer than they've stood for the rest of the shift. Close enough that he can see that her eyes are slightly different colours. And that she's wiped her cheek with gloves on, so some of her foundation has smudged.

"Or you learnt things wrong," Drishti counters, leaning backwards to drop the patient's clipboard back into its holder. "I'm sure that there's a lot of differences between practice in Scotland and Holby."

"Probably enough to have a meal during it." It just slips out, and Dylan's not entirely sure that he means it – because he's spent two weeks criticising this woman, but also two weeks more interested in her than most other people – and he hopes a lot of different things at once.

Drishti's eyebrows raise slightly, and she stops mid-laugh. "Doctor Keogh, is that a dinner invitation?"

Perhaps it _would_ be nice to bury the hatchet – admittedly a hatchet he created, but a hatchet all the same – with Drishti. After all, it doesn't look like she's leaving. And he could do with a friend in the department, even if it is just someone to argue with all day. Connie's gone soft, and half of the team barely even pay attention when he starts a rant nowadays.

"Well, yes, I suppose it is."

* * *

~x~

After another five _"I want Dad"_ statements from Grace, Connie's had enough. Her daughter clearly doesn't want her around during an hour wait for an x-ray. Time to give her the choice.

"Right, sweetheart, you clearly don't want me here," Connie says, doing her best to stop her voice going sharp. She can't bring herself to make eye contact with Grace, because she doesn't want to see the rejection. "So if you can wait for fifteen minutes on your own, I'll go into theatre and let your Dad come out. Or I'm happy to stay with you, I want to stay with you. It's up to you."

She can hear Grace biting her lip, before she nods. "Please get him."

It takes everything Connie has to not burst into tears on her way upstairs.

* * *

~x~

Ninety minutes later, Connie walks out of theatre and talks to the patient's relatives – glossing over the fact that Harry Gregson entered theatre with a male surgeon and left with a female one – before almost sprinting back downstairs. She left everything in her office, and hasn't had any update from Sam to suggest that Grace has been discharged or left the building.

He had been confused when she had entered theatre and explained the situation to him, though he hadn't questioned her, had simply left when she asked him to.

It had almost been nice, to be honest, to not think about Grace for an hour and a half. The bypass was tricky, with a fair few complications, though Zosia had been particularly competent at pre-empting some of them. Doing the surgery had reminded Connie of the time when Grace had needed surgery as a toddler, and she had gone in with a double bypass to distract herself. At least this had stopped her spiralling.

As she reaches the ED, Connie sprints into her office, where she's faced with both Grace and Sam.

"Mum!" Grace shouts, the biggest smile on her face.

Connie's confused, though she tries to do her best to hide it.

"Hi, sweetheart," Connie says cautiously, smiling a little as she crosses the room. "So, is it broken?" She bends down to kiss Grace on the cheek, but her daughter surprises her by pulling her into a tight hug.

Grace is acting the complete opposite of how she had not even two hours ago, when all she had wanted was Sam.

"Just a sprain," Sam clarifies, when Grace doesn't reply. "She won't be going for any walks with Rufus any time soon, but she'll be fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," Connie replies honestly. "I'm glad you're alright, sweetheart. Would you like to go home now?"

Grace nods, and Connie turns back to look at Sam, whose expression becomes crestfallen.

"I can't leave yet, girls, I'm sorry. I've still got another patient to operate on before I can go."

"That's quite alright," Grace declares, her arm still wrapped tightly around Connie's neck. "I've got Mum. We can have a girly night or something."

Connie's not entirely sure what's happened to her daughter, but she isn't complaining.

* * *

~x~

"Are you alright, darling?" Sam murmurs in Connie's ear as they lie in bed together that evening.

She's been quiet for most of the day, unable to correlate her daughter's behaviour. First she wanted Connie there, then she wanted Sam, and then she suddenly wanted Connie back. It didn't make sense – and she still can't make sense of it.

"Grace," Connie admits, speaking slowly as she tries to put her words together. "I…This sounds selfish…but she didn't want me there, Sam. I put her first, and all she wanted was you." It stings to admit it, and she knows she sounds selfish, but she wants to be honest with him. Even if the honesty hurts.

Sam sighs, but deftly flips himself so that he's suddenly on Connie's other side, facing her. "I, er, that might be my fault," he admits, confusing Connie.

"What do you mean?"

Pressing a swift kiss to Connie's forehead, Sam places his hand on her shoulder. "Okay, don't get mad-"

"I'm starting to, now you've told me not to," Connie interrupts.

"After everything that happened, Grace noticed that…any time she gets hurt, or is ill, you stress – stress more than normal, I mean," Sam continues swiftly. "And when she told me, I noticed, too. You spiral, and what's just a common cold easily becomes potential pneumonia to you. Which is natural, I suppose, after what you went through-"

"What do you _mean_ , what I went through?" Connie's voice is like ice.

"The accident, Con."

"I don't know what that has to do with _Grace_ , Samuel." She only calls him Samuel when she's angry.

"It has everything to do with Grace," Sam says patiently, using the arm that isn't on Connie's shoulder to prop himself up. "You thought she had died in that car, and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it. Then she almost died _again_. And again. And you haven't gotten any help for it – I know you haven't – so any time that she isn't one hundred percent herself, you spiral. You panic that she isn't going to be okay, and you can't breathe.

"She's the one who noticed it. So she doesn't want you around when she's ill, not because she doesn't _want_ you there, but because she wants you to be okay. Because whilst her having you there helps _her_ , it doesn't help you. That's why she was happy for you to go to theatre earlier – as in theatre, you wouldn't be thinking about her, you'd be distracted. She's a remarkably intuitive little girl."

And suddenly it all makes sense. Why Grace only ever pushes her away when she's ill. Why she looked concerned when Connie was trying to hide the fact that she couldn't breathe. Why she was genuinely so happy to see Connie when she came into her office earlier.

"Hey," Sam says gently, moving his arm to wipe away the tears falling down Connie's cheeks. "It's okay. It isn't your fault."

"I know," Connie murmurs, doing her best to stop herself crying. "I just…she's too clever."

"She definitely takes after her mum." Sam laughs a little. "Come here, sweetheart. it's alright."

Maybe it's time that Connie talks to someone about the accident, after all.

* * *

 **This was my new favourite chapter to write (I know I say that after most of them), so I hope you all enjoyed it too!**


	11. Questions

Chapter Eleven:

 **Thank you all so, so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter! Once again, I really enjoyed writing it!**

 **This chapter's more junior-doctor centric, so it's a bit of a change in pace from the last couple of chapters, but I hope you enjoy it!**

 **It's my birthday on Sunday so I'll probably be updating on Tuesday, when I get back from my holiday.**

* * *

It's nine thirty on a Wednesday morning, and Connie Beauchamp can't help but feel a little bit guilty that she's sitting on her sofa, legs stretched out across Sam Strachan and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands.

"I probably should have swapped to have Saturday off," Connie says, almost miserably, "then I could have spent the day with Grace, rather than her having to go to Hannah's."

Sam smiles across, and rubs Connie's calf, half in sympathy and half because literally thirty seconds previously she had commented that it was feeling a little tight from running. "Darling, Grace _asked_ if she could spend the day with Hannah. Our work shifts aren't forcing her to do that."

"Yes, but I feel like I've gone from seeing her every weekend and most evenings to…well, just evenings, and that's only when she comes downstairs!" Connie almost explodes with emotion, though she manages to keep her voice steady. "It's like she's a teenager already, Sam. She doesn't want to spend time with me!"

"She does," Sam replies, a smile on his face. "And Con, she's spent the weekend with you every week for about five months now. I think it's normal that she wants to go out with her friends. She's probably got her fill of you now for a few months. Don't worry about going to work – I mean, I am as well." Whilst being a consultant does have its perks, there's still a requirement for him to go in from time to time on the weekend, and this just happens to be one of the Saturdays that he has to. "Plus, it means _we_ get a day alone together, which doesn't happen that often anymore."

"True," Connie concedes, leaning across so that she's sat a little closer to Sam. "Even though it's raining, so we'll have to spend _all day_ inside."

"You make it sound like such a chore," Sam retorts, grinning as he leans across to press his lips gently to hers. "I guess I'll just have to tell you all about my childhood and how much I loved playing football."

"Again," Connie says, faking a groan. For all she pretends to complain about hearing Sam's stories, she enjoys them more than she'll admit.

After her conversation with Sam the previous month about Michael, she decided to tell him a bit more about her childhood. Not masses, and not all in one go, but she'll drop little comments in about her parents, or her favourite TV show. About how she used to sneak into the pub as a teenager, and hoped that it wasn't a haunt of one of her father's drinking partners. The time that she applied glitter makeup on a Sunday night, and she still had glitter on her face on Friday – though, she concedes, that that was more due to poor parenting than the fact that the makeup had a high glitter content.

He listens to everything and makes a mental note. It's as if he's trying to build himself a timeline of her past – which, she supposes, he is. After all, _she_ doesn't really know when things happened; it's just a blur of repressed memories that she's trying to draw out for a change.

In a way, it's nice to work out what happened. The past has been sugarcoated a little with the passing of time, but she can still remember how much every betrayal hurt. But she can remember some of the good times, too. Better than she could when she was focused solely on forgetting everything to do with Peckham and Connie Chase.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Sam says suddenly, interrupting Connie's reverie. "It's my birthday next month." He says it as a statement, and Connie laughs.

"Sweetheart, I _know_ when your birthday is," a hint of humour in her voice. "I wrote you birthday cards from Grace for about eight years, remember?"

"Yes, I know, but this is my first birthday back in Holby – I mean, _properly_ back in Holby – in ten years," Sam explains, looking Connie in the eyes. "And you know what that means?"

Connie knows exactly what that means, but she doesn't want to admit it. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Sam pauses for dramatic effect, "that my mother will want to throw a birthday party. With all the family. To celebrate that her beloved son has returned home once again."

"Beloved?" Connie raises her eyebrows, though her involuntary smirk negates any attempt at sarcasm. "But _really_ , Sam? Do I _have_ to go? I'm sure I'll be needed at work – I mean, Ethan and Alicia are off for weeks and…"

"And my mother hardly believes that we're in a relationship as it is, Con, you not appearing isn't going to help that." Sam's voice is firm, but strangely flirtatious, and Connie's intrigued. "It'll be one day, we can spend half the time talking about Grace, and I promise to try and keep you as far away from my mother as possible."

"Fine," Connie grumbles, before leaning forwards and setting her now empty coffee cup on the table. "But you can make it up to me. In various ways. For the foreseeable future."

He starts straight away.

* * *

~x~

"So, I was thinking, maybe we get takeaway tonight?" Alicia begins a conversation with Ethan from across the workstation, trying to make her voice as cheery as possible. It isn't particularly hard, what with her accent, but she tries doubly hard for Ethan today. "Chill out, watch a bit of the telly, have a bottle of wine…"

She's doing her best to distract Ethan at any slightly quiet point during the day – and every night, too. Next week is the start of the court proceedings for the formal trial of Scott Ellison for the murder of Caleb Knight, and she knows just how hard Ethan's finding it. No matter how much he thinks that he's just about adjusted to life without his brother, Alicia knows that most of his progress will go backwards the moment that he steps into a courtroom for a period of weeks, hearing the evidence over and over again.

There was a brief moment when she thought she had successfully persuaded him to skip most of the court proceedings, but that was short lived, and she still isn't particularly surprised. Of course he wants to be there to see the case against Scott. And, thankfully, Mrs Beauchamp's permitted her to take the same time off as well, so that Ethan isn't alone. It isn't the usual procedure, Connie had stressed, but Mr Hanssen was willing to make an allowance in this case, due to how close it had hit the hospital.

It takes him a few seconds to reply, but Ethan finally looks up and smiles a little. "Sounds great," he replies, but Alicia can tell his heart isn't in it. "Maybe a quick run first, though?"

Ever since Scott was first arrested, Ethan's taken up running. Alicia's still not one hundred percent sure why – there's been no threats from the Ellisons, or their various equally thuggish cronies – but she thinks that Cal used to run. Maybe it's just another way for Ethan to try and stay close to his brother's memory. Or maybe, it's because he thinks that if he had been able to run faster, he would have made it back to the ED before Cal had passed away.

It gives her shivers to just think about it, to be honest.

"Of course," Alicia replies, doing her best to sound enthusiastic about the prospect of running. "Good job I wore my trainers to work today then, isn't it?"

* * *

~x~

"Doctor Munroe, Doctor Hardy, I'd like you two to take the next incoming case," Elle calls across from the red phone. "Male, early thirties, some form of abdominal injury. Take him into resus two. There may be more incomings."

"Sure thing," Alicia confirms, setting down the case file in her hands back on the 'to claim' pile. "What's the ETA?"

"Five minutes," Elle replies, taking a brief look at Ethan. "Be ready, guys. It could be a difficult one."

Ethan nods, and Alicia wonders what's going through his mind. Does every patient with that description remind him of Cal? Can he separate the victim from the description? Does he actually struggle more than he's letting on? The only question she can answer is the last one: she knows he pretends to be better than he really is.

"You alright?" Alicia asks Ethan quietly, after watching his expression for a few seconds. He isn't giving anything away, but that's nothing new.

"I'm fine," he snaps, instinctively raising his hands as if to tell her to back off. Then he shakes his head and does his best impression of a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Don't worry about it," Alicia replies quickly, giving him what she hopes is a supportive smile. "Look, you get resus ready and I'll go wait to meet the paramedic crew at the door. See you in a few minutes."

She walks off before he can argue, and all Alicia hopes is that Ethan can pull himself together enough to treat this patient.

* * *

~x~

Sometimes – well, more like rarely – Charlie and Duffy manage to fix the break rota so that they can take a lunch break together. It happens less often than they'd like, so they always try and make the most of whenever it happens, even though the conversation usually ends up being about at least one of their colleagues.

"You know, since Louis's got his act together, I actually worry more about this lot than him," Charlie muses, coffee cup in hand, as he looks through the staffroom window onto the department floor. "Is that wrong, as a parent? I don't know…"

Duffy laughs a little, and shakes her head, smiling a little at Charlie. She doesn't know how it's possible, but she seems to love him more and more every day. Is that normal?

"It's like we've got an extra work family," Duffy agrees, "except, unlike our actual children, they seem to need us just as much as they get older, if not more so. Have you spoken to Dylan recently?"

"No, not recently," Charlie replies, frowning a little. "He seems a bit down, I probably should. I'm surprised, I have to say. I thought he would be happy now that Connie's back – and that Sam's gone back upstairs. But he just seems to be getting more and more annoyed, almost."

"I agree," Duffy says, eating a bite of her sandwich. "I think he enjoyed the responsibility more than he would ever let on, even if _you_ asked him. Which is good. I'm glad that he wants to step up permanently – I think he'd be a brilliant Clinical Lead."

"Probably have to move hospitals though," Charlie responds, "doesn't look like Connie's going anywhere at the moment. I'm glad that things are working out for her, though. She deserves it, after everything she's been through the last few years. Pass me a sandwich would you?"

Duffy hands him the remaining sandwiches in the bag and adds, "True. She puts so much work into the department, I'm glad that she's got people there for her when she goes home. Good role model for everyone who comes into the department, as well: she's got a good job and a good home life. I am slightly surprised she didn't stay on Darwin, she shines _so_ brightly up there."

Charlie realises at this point that he hasn't shared Connie's reasoning for being so focused on the ED with Duffy, and hesitates a moment before disclosing them. He doesn't want to break Connie's confidence, but…

"She'll be back up there in a few years, I imagine," Charlie replies, his brow furrowed a little. "When the ED is excellent – even better than now – we'll see the return of the surgeon. Then I suppose that Sam'll have to find himself another hospital, again!"

Duffy doesn't reply straight away; her attention's focused on what's going on outside of the staffroom window. It's a good job that the room's empty, otherwise their more than professional curiosity and interest in their friends' and colleagues' lives might be considered little more than busybodying.

"I'm glad that Lily's talking to Iain again," Duffy comments, her attention still focused on the pair outside of the window. Whilst they're clearly not as close as they were last summer, Duffy's pretty certain that they're at least on friendly terms again. Even though it's taken them a while – Duffy and Charlie spoke to Lily _weeks_ ago – she's glad that the junior doctor has taken their advice.

Lily's always been a difficult one for Duffy. Independent enough to not need "stating the obvious" advice and support, Duffy sometimes struggles to connect with the younger woman. She's glad that Lily's taken up kickboxing, though; it gives her something to do outside of work, to relax and unwind. Even if that involves punching and kicking people. Both Duffy and Charlie are secretly hoping for an invite to the next kickboxing tournament, though they're not entirely sure if Lily will give them one.

"I've seen them talking a few times," Charlie muses, stepping away from the window and back across to the breakfast bar to pick up an apple. "I wonder how it's going…should we try and get involved?"

"No, Charlie Fairhead!" Duffy exclaims, sounding almost shocked. "We've done our part in their matchmaking. Let's just watch from afar and hope that something works out between them. And if it doesn't, it doesn't. But I hope it does. They're so lovely together."

"Okay, darling," Charlie concedes. "I _will_ keep an eye on Ethan, though. It's Scott Ellison's court case in a couple of weeks, and he doesn't seem like he's coping very well."

"No, he doesn't. Have you let Connie know?"

"She can see it herself. She's done all she can, but he doesn't want any help. All we can do is hope that he gets through the trial. At least he won't be here during it."

"And I hear that Alicia's got the time off for the case, too?"

"Yeah, I think it was a special arrangement from Hanssen. Connie's got us some locum cover for those weeks, and maybe even some additional nursing staff. God only knows we need it."

At this point, a very stressed looking Jacob Masters walks passed the window, shaking his head and muttering something to himself.

"Ah, Jacob," Duffy says, almost wistfully, as she drops her rubbish into the recycling bin. "Have you noticed that he always seems to have the opposite shifts to Connie? I thought they broke up more than a year ago?"

"They did," Charlie confirms, taking Duffy's mug off of her and dropping in into the washing up bowl. He then starts to wash up the crockery that the rest of the team have left, as is becoming his routine. It's annoying, but if he doesn't do it, nobody will. "I guess he must be taking it harder than we thought, the whole Connie and Sam thing. Not that it's _new_ , but maybe our Jacob still feels more for Connie than he's willing to admit."

"Well, not talking about it isn't going to help," Duffy remarks. "Poor lad. I mean, it's quite clear that nothing's going to change any time soon; he isn't going to be able to win her back. Must be hard working with her still."

"But easier now that Sam's gone back upstairs," Charlie reminds her. "And that's probably why he doesn't work with her. Because at least when Sam was down here, he had a physical reminder of why he can't win Connie's heart back. But now, he can just see her down here, happy, and not be able to separate that from him wanting her. We had best go back."

* * *

~x~

"Ethan, are you sure you're okay to treat him?" Alicia whispers, almost hisses, in Ethan's direction as they take a glance at their patient's initial x-ray result. Richard Jenner, thirty-two, reminds Alicia of Cal in more than just his stats and physical description

Because Richard Jenner, like Cal, is an abdominal stab victim with a lacerated lung and punctured spleen.

 _Unlike_ Cal, however, Richard Jenner was found immediately after injury, and rushed straight to Holby City Hospital.

Just looking at Ethan's expression, Alicia can tell that he's struggling. He's shaky, pale and gritting his teeth – the surest of all signs that it's an effort to look even remotely calm. And he doesn't need to do this; she can cope, with Doctor Gardner's help. He doesn't need to hurt himself.

But before Ethan replies, Alicia's already aware of what he's going to say.

"Yes, I'm fine," Ethan replies quietly, looking up from the iPad and making eye contact with Alicia. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips, though it doesn't linger. "We only have to get him steady until Mr Griffin's out of theatre. I'll be fine." He walks back across towards Richard, to check his chest drain, leaving Alicia at the foot of the bed with the iPad.

She's certain that the second _I'll be fine_ was more for his benefit than hers, an attempt to trick himself into thinking that he _will_ be okay. Which he will be. He's Ethan Hardy; he's made it through a year without Cal, treated dozens of stab wound patients, and even coped through the pre-trial hearings of Scott Ellison. Yes, she's helped – probably just by being there for him, as Alicia had absolutely no idea if what she was saying and doing was a help – but he's managed to make it through the darkest of days, simply by gathering himself together.

He can do this. She needs to believe that he can.

.

"Right, Richard, we're going to keep you comfortable down here for another ten or so minutes," Ethan explains to the patient in the bed – _not_ Cal, not Cal, Richard, Richard Jenner – about the next steps in his care. The steps that Ethan, thankfully, isn't involved in. "We're just waiting for Mr Griffin to finish with a patient in theatre at the minute, and then we can get you straight up there. Don't worry, just try and stay calm, and you'll soon be sorted."

"Thank…you…" the man, Richard, says quietly, his hand holding his oxygen mask off of his face slightly. Just enough for Ethan to be able to hear him. "Thank…you…really…I don't…des…deserve it…"

Gently, Ethan lowers the oxygen mask onto the man's face once more, and smiles a little. It's barely there, but it's his best interpretation of a comforting smile, whatever one of those might be nowadays. "You do," he replies quietly, seriously, solemnly. There's no trace of a joke within his voice, as he makes eye contact with Richard, hoping that his sincerity rings through. "You deserve help, Richard. I'm just glad that we could give you it."

Before the patient can respond, Ethan steps away from the bed once, twice, and then down towards the foot of the bed again. Towards Alicia. Towards the centre of his stability, though he doesn't think that he can ever explain to her how much she means to him, how central she is to his continued emotional stability – or attempts at it, anyway. It wouldn't be fair on her to explain the weight he attaches to her presence. It's a serious relationship for what it is – about a year old – but he doesn't need to start adding to that.

He's already given her enough heartbreak and heartache and things to worry over. He doesn't need to add yet another thing to the pile.

"I'm going to go and check with theatre, see how long it's going to be," Ethan says quietly, making eye contact with Alicia. There's still a hint of a smile on his face, and he does his best to keep it there. "Are you alright to keep an eye on him?"

"Sure thing," Alicia says immediately. Too quickly, if he was being suspicious. But he's doing his best to keep everything calm – to stop any emotional connection to this case, if such a thing is possible – so he just nods, touches her shoulder in sympathy, and then walks out of resus.

* * *

~x~

"Dylan," Elle begins, almost cautiously, her finger tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "If you weren't a doctor…what would you be?"

She can see the confusion in Dylan's expression as well as his posture at the almost philosophical question. If you had made one life decision differently – the choice of career – what sort of person would you be now?

"Hm," Dylan says, his tone ponderous. "I hadn't really thought about it. No need to, really."

"Yes," Elle begins, closing her eyes for a moment as she processes Dylan's particularly unhelpful response. "That's true. But, say you _had_ chosen a different career…what would it have been?"

"Well, it's a bit of a null question, really." It's almost as if Dylan's _trying_ to be annoying – which he could well be. "Because I am a doctor. I don't think I'm going to change careers _now_ , so what does it matter?"

"Just answer the question, Dylan!" Elle almost snaps, and it's the closest she's come to losing her temper with Dylan Keogh for a long time. Probably since her ill-fated time as Clinical Lead, more than a year ago now.

"Alright, alright," he replies, looking almost wary. Clearly, the threat of an angry Elle is a greater threat than she would have normally anticipated. That, or he's just shocked that she's so passionate about a hypothetical question. "I suppose…probably something to do with academia. Probably history, I always enjoyed that at school. Yes, I'd probably be lecturing some students in a stuffy office now about why something had to happen because of x, y and z. Does that answer your question?"

 _No_ , Elle thinks rashly, but she doesn't say it because, technically, he's answered her question. Even if it wasn't the answer she wanted to hear – that, had he not gone into medicine, Dylan had a definite backup career. Or at least a potential backup career, one that he can still think of twenty years later.

"Yeah, sure, thanks," Elle replies distractedly, doing her best to smile in Dylan's general direction. "Well, I best be getting back to it…see you later."

As she walks out of the staff room, Elle knows that Dylan must be wondering what on earth the conversation was about. Because, in all honesty, she is too.

But, strangely, it's another plus in the mental pro and con list of whether or not she should hand in her resignation…

* * *

~x~

Outside of resus is almost like a different world. There's none of the emotional struggles of resus; it's hectic, noisy and always busy. Compared to resus, where a singular patient is your whole world, it's like a sensory overload.

There's also more staff out here. A _lot_ more staff. Staff who need a quick chat about hairbrained ideas or the latest gossip or romance in the hospital. That's probably why the whole "Connie and Sam" thing has gained such traction in the department: somewhere that's likely to see at least one death per shift, it's necessary to keep as light as possible.

"Hey guys," Drishti Batra begins as she approaches the group already at the workstation. It's been a few weeks since she's joined the department, and she's beginning to feel like she's part of the team. Joining a well-established team – and replacing someone who had such a presence – is always difficult, but it's nice to see that the people are friendly. Maybe she'll stick around in Holby. "How's things?"

The main people at the desk are Ethan, Alicia and Max – at least she thinks that's what the latter's named. He's referenced a lot in conversations, especially as he lives with Alicia and a few of the others, but he's rarely been around when she has. Doctor Keogh's kept her focused on the patients in her care, rather than letting her check up on them after she's finished their initial treatment.

There's a pause before Alicia replies, "great, thanks, you?"

Not the response Drishti expected, but she's going to roll with it. They're taking a personal note from her question, which is always good. After all, you don't really do that with strangers, do you?

"Yeah, I'm really good thanks!" Drishti begins, trying to reign in her enthusiasm a little bit. The little she knows about Doctor Hardy, she knows that he's going off to a trial about his brother's murder in a few weeks. She doesn't want to appear too cheery, until she's gotten a better measure of him. "Finally found a nice place to live in Holby – only taken four weeks of searching whilst I've actually been here."

"Nicer than Chez Walker?" Max comments, sounding outraged. He's placed a hand on his chest, as though her comment has physically hurt him. "Alicia, correct her. Share about how wonderful our home is."

Alicia rolls her eyes, though she's grinning. "If you think that spiders coming out of every crack, mouldy ceilings and a crying baby is wonderful, then yes, it's wonderful."

Drishti's confused. The mention of a baby has definitely thrown her. "You have a baby?" she isn't sure who she directs this to, because she doesn't know to whom it will be more offensive.

Ethan, Alicia and Max all exchange a glance before laughing, each of them shaking their heads.

"No," Alicia says, lifting her hands up. "No, no, no."

"I think I'd be pretty worried if I'd only just found out," Ethan jokes, and then it clicks in Drishti's mind. It's _those_ two who are together. There are just so many relationships around here, she's struggling to remember who's with who.

"Charlotte's my sister's daughter," Max explains, "well, step-sister technically. I'm pretty young to be an uncle. But you know her – my sister, Charlotte's mum I mean – it's Robyn. She's a nurse here, think she's been working with you a few times."

"Ahhhh," Drishti replies, thinking through the various nurses until she comes to the right one. Ginger haired, always a smile on her face. Generally always has a good anecdote – and has her back whenever Dylan Keogh suggests that she's doing something the wrong way. "Sorry. There's just so many people in this place."

"Yeah, I can imagine it's hard figuring out who everyone is," Alicia sympathises. "It was a lot less complicated when I started here. Well, a bit anyway. There were no kids, and half the relationships weren't going on."

Drishti can't stop herself asking something. "Like who?"

"Pretty much all of them," Max says. "These two weren't together, obviously. Duffy wasn't in the country, so Charlie and Duffy weren't a thing – though there'd always been something there. Connie – Mrs B – was sort of seeing one of the nurses, I think, not Sam."

"Really?" Drishti comments without thinking. "I just assumed that Mrs Beauchamp had been with her partner for ages. I mean, don't they have a kid together?"

Once again, the three of them exchange a look that leaves Drishti feeling a little excluded. Then again, she's new. It's to be expected – until there's a new "new person".

"Oh, Drishti, you have a lot to catch up on," Max says, sounding almost amused. "Short story is that they had a kid, split up, then got back together like…last year? But then they managed to keep it secret until after they'd moved in together, and it was only because their daughter spilled the beans that we found out. But then she came back to work downstairs – oh, she'd been helping upstairs because she's actually a hotshot heart surgeon – and Sam went upstairs because they couldn't work together. And I think that's it."

If she thinks about it too long, Drishti thinks that her head will explode. So much for the drama-less couple she thought Mrs Beauchamp and her partner were. Then again, she should have thought that when she realised that they had different surnames.

"Hm," Drishti says slowly. "What about Doctor Keogh?"

She doesn't mean to ask it. Really, she doesn't. But after they went for dinner the other week, she can't help but feel as if she needs to know more about him than that he lives on a house boat and he's a consultant in emergency medicine. And that's all he's willing to give her; the entire meal was spent arguing about the merits of methods of thoracotomies and the strength of the primary survey. She can't tell still if he meant to ask her out to dinner, or if it was a complete accident.

Thankfully, none of the people she's talking to knows that she went to dinner with Dylan. Only Charlie was in the room at the time, and he seems the sort to keep his nose out of other people's business. Or maybe he didn't hear. But at least she doesn't appear desperate talking about Dylan.

And, hopefully she thinks, they don't realise that she's asking at least partially out of jealousy, to see if there's any competition for Doctor Keogh's heart in the department.

"Ah, Dylan, what a beautiful fellow," Max comments, staring off dreamily into the distance. "Yeah, he had a wife here…well, she arrived _after_ him, and they were separated by then…and then they got divorced and he left because she hooked up with someone else here – this is all before Ethan and Alicia's time – and then he came back. It's complicated. But he's single now."

"Yeah, he went to this single dating thing and literally ignored everyone there," Alicia comments, almost conspiratorially. "Who knows…maybe he's happier just being with Dervla."

"Probably," Ethan weighs in, before looking at his watch. "I probably should get on if I want to leave on time today. Nice seeing you, Doc—Drishti."

The others say their goodbyes too, and Drishti wonders if it would be awkward to start another conversation with them at a later date as to whom exactly "Dervla" is.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading this chapter!**


	12. Cases

Chapter Twelve:

 **Thanks for your comments on the last chapter! I had a brill birthday away, though I'm unfortunately back in the UK.**

 **I really appreciate all comments, please carry on leaving them ;)**

* * *

"So, Jac's on holiday this week…" Sam begins, but Connie struggles to focus on what he's saying. His fingers are gently tracing the curves in her back, his touch soft and sensuous. Addictive. She's definitely addicted to his touch. And him, of course. At first, it was just his physical self – but now, now it's every single part of him.

"Mmm…?" Connie replies distractedly, her eyes closed. It's a struggle to stop any noise coming out in response to his touch, but the door is open and Grace is still awake. Moving to close the door just seems like too much effort – and it would involve losing contact with Sam.

"Well, I was thinking that you could pop upstairs. Relive the glory days, so to speak."

Now his hand has moved up, his grip firmer now as he swiftly massages her shoulders.

"Whilst that sounds _tempting_ , I don't want tongues wagging," Connie murmurs, sliding out of Sam's grip. His fingers relax, evidently confused, and she uses his frame to help her jump round so that she's facing him.

"Very deft," Sam comments, a wickedly sly grin on his face. "Tongues are already wagging, Con. What do you think half of your department _does_ all day?"

Raising an eyebrow slightly, Connie smirks in response, pressing the front side of her body up close against Sam's chest. He's warm to her touch, and she's more than a little pleased to feel goosebumps forming where she touches him. For all the emotional connection that's formed over the past few months, the primal instinctiveness and powerful steamy seduction of their sexual relationship remains as strong as ever. In fact, Connie thinks, she's even more attracted to him physically every time their emotional bond deepens.

"True," Connie concedes, her fingers snaking their way down the sides of Sam's bare chest. "But I think that I'll stay downstairs, sweetheart. Couldn't have Henrik walking in, could we?" She leans in closer, and whispers in his ear, "close the door and we can pretend that this is the office…"

"Well, I think you'll find there's a day that we're _guaranteed_ nobody will walk in," Sam tries to argue, but Connie lifts a hand and places one finger over his lips, effectively silencing him.

"But then where's the fun in that?" Connie pouts. "Close. The. Door."

Sam stays silent, unmoving, despite Connie's proximity to him.

He finally groans, and pushes Connie away as he swings his legs out of the bed. "You're a tough nut, Connie Beauchamp. It's a good job I love you."

* * *

~x~

In all honesty, Drishti Batra enjoys working at Holby City Hospital. In fact, she loves it. It's more of a challenge working here – particularly as the doctors have only ever known her as a registrar, rather than as an F2 – but she loves it.

She particularly enjoys the consultants. Or, rather, _working_ with the consultants, she mentally corrects herself, feeling a blush creep onto her face. Doctor Gardner has been nothing but lovely and supportive when they've worked on cases together. Mrs Beauchamp has been attentive and interested in what she's had to say – and she's almost an inspiration to Drishti. And Doctor Keogh – Dylan – he's…something else completely. Intuitive and yet strangely obtuse, he's brilliant: there's no other word to describe him.

But he still has an issue with her, one that she can't quite figure out. It's dissipated slightly since their meal together a few weeks back – replaced instead by a strange, yet awkward connection between them. Apparently, he doesn't really socialise with his fellow doctors, not since someone called Zoe left. She likes him, more than she probably should like her superior, but Drishti doesn't think anything will happen. At least not in the short term. Dylan seems incapable of recognising that she has any attributes whatsoever.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you." A voice from the workstation startles Drishti as she walks towards Mrs Beauchamp's office, not even a metre away. Dylan.

Drishti turns, her eyes narrowed in confusion, and makes eye contact with Dylan. That's another rarity; he tends to look away from her, particularly when he's admitting that she knows more than he had expected.

"Why's that?" Drishti replies, shrugging a little. She's never had an issue with approaching Mrs Beauchamp; even when the older woman seems stressed, she usually has at least a minute for Drishti. "Mrs Beauchamp said she wanted to know the results of this survey immediately – and I'm taking them to her?" It still feels strange to speak in an even remotely disrespectful manner to a superior; but that's the only way that Dylan will listen to her, it seems.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't break eye contact with her. Strange. Maybe he's mellowed slightly. "Because she is in an atrocious mood. And I assume you don't want to be added to her hit list."

"Hit list?"

Snorting, Dylan replies, "hit list, you know, bad list, naughty list – like Santa's, I mean, you do believe in Santa still don't you?"

Just about resisting the urge to reply sarcastically, Drishti says, "I'm Hindi, we don't believe in Santa." Even though her parents had believed that Santa Claus was a secular figure, and it was only when she turned ten that Drishti had finally been told that Santa wasn't real.

Dylan doesn't even blink at her response, though he shifts slightly. Perhaps he's more embarrassed than he'll admit. "Anyway, the point still stands: go in there, and Mrs Beauchamp will tear your head off."

"Has something happened?"

"Do you really need to know?" Dylan shoots back, but then sighs. For the first time, he looks away from Drishti, and she feels almost cold at the break in eye contact. Even if it was probably the longest that he's ever looked at her. "She's had some hiccup with her Centre of Excellence shenanigans, I'm not sure on the details. Just don't go in there."

Drishti bites her lip and hesitates. "But I have to give them to her…" she trails off, tapping her foot gently. It's her most common nervous habit, and as she gets more nervous, she taps faster. "I could page her?"

Shaking his head, Dylan removes his hands from his hips and swiftly walks through the gap in the desk, so that he's standing next to Drishti. "Give them to me, I'll pass them on," he promises, stretching his hand out to take the files.

They make eye contact again, and it's almost…almost as if he's doing something because he cares? Surely not.

"But she'll shout at you!" Drishti argues, though secretly she's happy that he'll get the brunt of Mrs Beauchamp's bad mood, rather than herself. Plus, he's doing something nice for her. Maybe he does care about her.

"And I'll deal with it," Dylan says honestly. "You'll probably cry and fear that she hates you."

She has to admit, he has a point.

"Thanks," Drishti mumbles, handing over the folders. "They're ordered alphabetically, if she wants to know."

* * *

~x~

For the first time in a _long_ time, things at work aren't going Connie Beauchamp's way.

Particularly when things aren't going her way because her predecessors were apparently incapable of doing paperwork to an even satisfactory standard. Let alone actually filing anything non-essential but that could be remotely useful for the future: patient stats, ethnic breakdown, clinician rates, _rotas_. The things that, should you need in the future, you can just go to a filing cabinet and dig out. And even if they're never used, it's just useful to have around.

But no. Nick Jordan and Zoe Hanna's inability to do paperwork and have even the remotest sense of foresight have screwed her over. Hell, even Harry Harper managed to start _some_ form of data trawl before he quit the department over that junior doctor, Ruth something or other.

Added to the unhelpfulness of former Clinical Leads is the fact that her staff seem unconcerned about her efforts. It's as if they don't care – which, to be honest, most of them probably don't. Thankfully her doctors are dedicated, but there's more than one nurse in her department that Connie really, _really_ wishes wasn't around. And hopes won't be around during the inspection.

Their lack of work ethic means that she has to work even harder – or at least, she thinks she has to work harder. Realistically, she doesn't; she isn't going around changing drips or taking patient histories or one of the other menial tasks important to the treatment of patients effectively. But that doesn't stop Connie worrying that her endeavours are going to fail – and that without a Jac Naylor to support her, she's not going to get Centre of Excellence status for her actual department.

And an email complaining about the work ethic and professionalism of her department has been the icing on the cake this morning. As soon as she received the notification on her phone, Connie realised that the day would be a painful one. To prevent herself being irrationally angry in front of her unaware staff, she stormed off to her office, slamming the door behind her to signify that she is not to be disturbed.

One fool tried it. The locum registrar covering for Ethan – who had been warned to stay in minors and not to move from there all day – had approached her less than half an hour into his shift, wondering when his break would be.

The resulting dressing down from Connie had probably been audible in all corners of the department.

She can feel herself stressing. Her heartrate's increasing and, no matter how much she focuses on her breathing, she can feel it becoming more rapid. But she has to make it through. It's only a few more months – and she can share the burden with Sam tonight, albeit with a few facts removed. Such as the effects of stress. He – like the rest of the world – thinks she's some form of infallible superhero at work. She can't, she won't, let him think that she's weak.

She won't let anyone think that she's weak at work – not even Sam Strachan.

Connie drops her pen and flexes her fingers, thinking of her happy thoughts, of Grace and Sam and little Rufus. Of the fact that, in only one month, she has an entire two weeks away from the department and the quest for Centre of Excellence status, because they're taking their first family holiday to Greece. Of the fact that she's happy and loved and, for the first time, feels complete.

And then her mindfulness is shattered by a swift knock at the door.

Scowling slightly, Connie waits for the person to enter the door, ready to bite someone's head off. She just about manages to resist saying anything as Dylan pops his head through the door.

"Just dropping something off about a survey," is all he says as he approaches her desk.

It's only then that Connie remembers that she had asked the new registrar to bring her some survey results – though she's not quite calm enough to be amused at the fact that Dylan's brought them in.

"Is she too scared to come herself?" Connie quips, just about resisting an angry or extremely sarcastic response.

Dylan smiles slightly, and it's a smile that Connie hasn't seen before. It's certainly not directed at her, anyway. "I thought that she might want to keep the saint-like image of you intact for a little while longer. Anyway, patients to see. Bye, Connie."

If she was a little less busy, Connie might have paused to consider the fact that Dylan Keogh has done something for no apparent reason – for someone who he apparently dislikes greatly.

But as it is, Connie soon forgets that Dylan had even been in her office as she digs into the details of the latest patient survey, hoping that three years of data will be enough for her project…

* * *

~x~

"Mrs Beauchamp, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we really do need you out on the shop floor," Elle says apologetically as she pokes her head around the door to Connie's office after the briefest of knocks. "Dylan, Drishti and Lily are dealing with an RTC, and I'm up to my ears in cubicles. Locum's useless, as usual."

Before Elle can continue babbling on, Connie raises a hand to stop her. "That's fine, I'm almost done anyway." A blatant lie, but Elle doesn't need to know how much work she has to do – or the fact that she's stressed.

"Brill, thanks Connie," Elle replies, a smile on her face. Evidently, she had been expecting more of a fight – not entirely an irrational preparation, to be honest. "Can you take the incoming patient? He's with Iain and Jess, the new paramedic, I think, should be here in about five minutes."

Sighing slightly, Connie nods as she stands up, reaching across the desk for her stethoscope. Does she have time for a coffee? Probably not; she needs to be prepared. "Right, that's fine. Anything else?"

Elle shakes her head, says, "thanks again, I owe you," without Connie really understanding why, and dashes away from the door before Connie has managed to round her desk.

One hand on her hip, the other opening the door, Connie slowly walks out of her office. The department doesn't seem particularly chaotic today, which is always nice to see – but even more so when she's in a poor mood. She still has to count to three on two separate occasions before responding to rather obvious questions from one locum, but she just about gets through the conversation unscathed.

As she walks, Connie feels her trousers begin to slip, and has to surreptitiously pull them up. She's lost weight, again. Not ideal, especially as it's due to stress. Stress makes her lose her appetite, something Sam hasn't noticed yet, and she needs to nip it in the bud now before she loses anymore.

"Looking mighty fine today, Mrs B," Noel calls from across at the reception desk, and it takes everything in Connie to stop herself biting his head off. All he means is a compliment, but it isn't what Connie needs to hear right now.

"Thank you," Connie replies curtly, cutting off any suggestion that she might want to commence a conversation with Noel as she stands, waiting for her patient.

After another minute or two, Iain and Jess come through the door, a middle aged man on the trolley in between them. Connie's received two patients from Jess so far; apparently, she's only just started training, which explains why she's working with Iain – and why she's a little slow on the uptake at times. She never thought she'd say this, but Connie almost misses the Iain and Jez partnership – but Jez is currently working with some new paramedic who used to be a doctor, and is likely to stay there until Jess has finished her training.

"Right, what have we got?" Connie asks as she approaches the trolley, turning slightly so that she can walk alongside the trio.

"This is Stephen Sellers, thirty-eight, collapsed at work about forty five minutes ago. He lost consciousness for less than a minute, and his GCS has remained at fourteen since we got him. Heartrate is 60 and his breathing has been a little rapid throughout the journey in."

Connie smiles a little as she makes eye contact with the patient. "Alright, thanks Iain, Mr Sellers, my name is Mrs Beauchamp, Clinical Lead, I'll be the one looking after you today," she introduces herself, turning away and briefly assessing the patient situation. Where can she put her patient? Cubicles seems the most appropriate place. "Right, can we go to cubicle nine please…Robyn, with me please."

Within five minutes, the patient is safely on the bed with the relevant monitoring equipment, the paramedics are making their way out towards the exit, and Connie is ready to start treating her patient.

"Now, Mr Sellers, is there anything that you've done differently today, anything at all that might have triggered your collapse?" Connie asks as she places her stethoscope to his chest, listening intently. Had she still been upstairs, she would have been listening out for murmurs or irregular rhythms; down here, all she needs to know is if there's anything out of the ordinary. Nowadays, it isn't her job to diagnose a patient to the same level of detail.

"Well, there's a big deal going on at work, so I've been putting in a lot of hours recently," Stephen says slowly, running his hand through his hair. It's only at this point that Connie really looks at his face, and sees how haggard he appears; the bags under his eyes have bags, and his cheeks appear almost sunken. "I haven't collapsed before though – truth be told, I wouldn't have come in, but my secretary saw that I'd fallen and he reported it immediately. It was the CEO who called the ambulance – she used to be a nurse or something, and she said that it was a problem." It's clear by the time that he finishes talking that he's out of breath, and Connie indicates to Robyn to put the oxygen system on full.

"Right, Mr Sellers, I'd like to run some tests," Connie says, taking a step back and sliding the stethoscope around her neck. "Robyn, FBCs, Us and Es please, and I'd like a heartrate monitor on Mr Sellers. Can you also check cholesterol, and organise a chest CT please. Thank you."

As she walks out of the cubicle, Connie regrets the moment she accepted this patient. Because why, of all days, does she need a stressed patient today?

* * *

~x~

It's cold for April, Alicia thinks as she steps out of the taxi behind Ethan, wrapping her cardigan around her tightly. Perhaps it's poetic that Scott Ellison's trial is beginning two weeks off the year anniversary of Cal's death – or perhaps it's disappointing that it's taken so long. Probably both.

Alicia takes grip of Ethan's hand tightly and almost pulls him towards the stairs up to the courthouse, his expression almost dazed. There's a lot of photographers and journalists and people who, before the damning evidence against Scott was found, turned away from Ethan when he went to them for help. Who are now desperate for the scoop – the interview with Doctor Knight's only brother – that Ethan is unwilling to give.

"You can do this," Alicia says firmly yet quietly to Ethan as they approach the stairs, the questions already being shouted down towards them. "I believe in you."

"I believe in you, too," Ethan murmurs, following Alicia into the lion's den.

They emerge unscathed – though almost deaf – a minute later, revelling momentarily in the quiet solitude of the courthouse reception. And then they remember why they're here, and Alicia shivers again. Maybe it isn't cold outside; maybe it's her.

"Morning," the lead prosecutor, Anna Rodriguez, says as she approaches the pair of them. Alicia's glad that she's neglected to add 'good'. "You're nice and early, that's good. Shall we go to my office for a coffee?" She speaks kindly, and Alicia suddenly wonders how often she has to deal with still-grieving family members waiting for some weird form of closure.

Ethan mutters something close to agreement, and within minutes, they've relocated to Anna's office. Another minute later, and there's a steaming cup of coffee in each of their hands, probably strong enough to stand a spoon up in.

They've met Anna five times in the run up to the trial, each time in different places. She's always been reassuring – though subtly showing a steely underside which suggests what sort of barrister she is. At any rate, she's better than Dominic Wood, the initial prosecutor, who walked into the meeting convinced it was Caleb Knight on trial…

"As we've discussed, my counterpart is likely to use elements of your brother's personality as a defence for his client," Anna begins, sitting down behind her desk. "It's shoddy work, of course, but he'll do it anyway. I just want to remind you not to let anything he says tarnish your memory of Cal, or let it rile you up. It will be hard, but you need to try and remain calm…or at least as calm as you can be. Otherwise, the judge will be forced to remove you from the proceedings – and trust me when I tell you that, no matter how painful it is in the courtroom, it's a thousand times worse waiting outside."

"What do you think our odds are?" Alicia asks, breaking the silence which forms as Ethan remains silent.

"Well, Mr Ellison's _two_ confessions, one of which was entirely unsolicited, are extreme pluses in our column. But I can never assure you of certainty, you know that.

"Having said that…we have a strong repertoire of evidence and witnesses. We can rebut anything that the defence is likely to throw at us, and even some things that he's unlikely to have even thought of. I assure you, I have worked tirelessly on this case – and so have my team. We will get through the next few weeks."

Alicia nods slowly. "How long do you think it will last?"

Anna shrugs, the first sign of any uncertainty appearing on her face. "Who knows, in all honesty. Judge Riley is a thorough woman, but I don't think she'll drag things out unnecessarily. She's just come out of a high profile case, and I doubt she wants her next one to be elongated. Best case scenario, a week. Worst case, maybe five."

Ethan swallows, and Alicia can see him processing the news on his face. Potentially five weeks of being face to face with Scott Ellison – and not being able to hurt him. Ever since Cal, he's found it harder and hider to hide what he's thinking. Maybe that's a benefit – but probably not for an ED doctor.

"Right, well…thank you in advance for what you're going to do," Alicia continues, looking back at Anna though she keeps holding Ethan's hand. Is it her imagination or is he gripping it tighter? "I know it must be hard-"

"What's hard is knowing that justice hasn't been served yet," Anna interrupts. "We will get him, I know it. Now, I need to go and meet with the judge, to discuss the proceedings. I'd prefer it if you would stay in my office until the time of the trial – a member of my staff will be along a few minutes before to take you down. I'll see you down there. Good luck." She smiles slightly as she stands, pausing to briefly rest a hand on Ethan's shoulder before walking out of the room, the sound of her heels the only sign she's left.

"You can do this," Alicia repeats, shivering slightly. " _We_ can do this."

* * *

~x~

"Oi! Lover boy, I'm talking to you!"

Jac's shouted comments across the office jolt Sam out of his reverie, though he just about manages to stop himself jumping. He'd been having a nice daydream about the holiday that he, Connie and Grace would be taking in a few weeks – though he still needed to talk to his mother about having Rufus, as Connie had asked him to – and Jac's unnecessary comments had interrupted that.

"How many times do I have to remind you, my name is _Sam_ ," Sam replies through gritted teeth, though only half-heartedly pursuing an irritated approach. He's too mellow from the daydream –where his mind was distracted by the question of what _exactly_ would Connie be wearing on the beach?

"Whatever," Jac replies, sounding increasingly like a thirteen-year-old teenager. Which, Sam thinks, she usually sounds like. "What time are you going for lunch?"

"Why?" Sam asks, suspicious to the core. There's usually nothing good that comes of a personal question from Jac Naylor. She probably wants him to do a seventeen hour operation or something.

"No reason," she says innocently, looking up from her computer. "But a little birdie tells me that you're off for lunch with Connie…"

"You're not coming," Sam interrupts, rolling his eyes. "It really is old news now, Jac. Surely you've got something else to do than gossip about something that's been going on for not much less than a year?" Well, nine months, but there's really no point in mentioning the specific time – or anything that could even hint to Jac as a reference to pregnancy.

Jac pouts, meeting Sam's gaze. "That hurts me to my core," she says, absolute deadpan. "But no, I don't want to come. Why would I want to watch you make lovey eyes at each other? Actually, no, don't answer that. But anyway, you'll be going down to the ED, right?"

"That's generally how two people meet for lunch, yes, they meet in the same place," Sam replies off-hand, looking away from Jac and back towards his computer. He's let his paperwork pile up again in favour of going into theatre, and he's really regretting it. Maybe if he takes it home, hints strongly and makes it up in sexual favours, Connie might _consider_ helping him get through it all. "Want me to pick you up a cup of children's toenails and some witchy beverage for your latest spell?" For all his jesting, he does actually like Jac Naylor; he'd probably consider her his closest friend in the hospital nowadays, despite their differences.

"Make it two cups," Jac retorts. "In all sincerity, what time are you going?"

Sam sighs. " _Why_?"

"Just answer the question." Jac's voice is sharp now, and Sam can tell that she isn't playing around.

"Probably about ten minutes," Sam replies. "I'm just finishing this paperwork, and then I'll go down a bit earlier than planned. I'll make up any extra time on the end of my shift, don't worry."

"Right, okay, good," Jac says slowly, tapping her pen. That's unusual for Jac. "Don't worry about the extra time – I need you to assess a patient in the ED before you meet Connie. But can you make sure that you're back for two thirty?"

"Sure…why?"

"Does it matter?"

Sam supposes not.

* * *

~x~

"Sam, what are you doing here?" Connie can tell that her voice is a little sharp – and shocked – as she looks up from the workstation to see Sam Strachan walking towards her. She deliberately makes an effort to soften her voice as she adds, "I thought we were meeting at half past?"

Sam smiles as he walks towards her, reaching across and placing a hand on her waist. If she isn't going crazy, Connie's sure that she can hear a wolfwhistle or something in the background of her department.

"I've got a patient to quickly assess," Sam explains, making eye contact with Connie. She only hopes that she isn't showing too much crazy. "But I also wanted to surprise you. Is that alright?"

On a normal day, absolutely. Today, not so much.

"Yes that's fine," Connie says, doing her best to smile. It's easier to forget about her woes when she's with Sam. "You'll have to wait in my office though when you've finished – excuse the mess."

"No problem," Sam replies, pressing a swift kiss to Connie's cheek. This time, she's certain she hears an audible gasp around the department. "See you soon, sweetheart."

Turning back to the workstation, Connie's faced with at least six members of her department, all of whom swiftly turn away and try to look busy when they see her.

"Perhaps if you all put as much effort into treating patients as you do into gossiping about my life, perhaps this backlog would disappear faster," Connie says sharply, her voice ice cold. "Get back to work."

* * *

~x~

"Now, Mr Sellers, I have your test results," Connie says as she enters her patient's cubicle, looking up briefly from the paperwork to make eye contact with the man. "I have to say, everything is inconclusive."

Before she can continue, the man interrupts. "Great," Stephen says, sitting upright and looking down at his chest. "How long till I can get rid of all of this stuff?"

Connie just about hides a smile. Oh, how similar she is to him when she's a patient. "Not quite yet, Mr Sellers. Whilst there's nothing to suggest that there's any immediate risk to your health, I have to say that the results are higher than normal. This would suggest that your lifestyle is likely to blame for your collapse."

"I told you, I've been working more hours recently," Stephen insists, "it'll be over soon. And anyway, no offence, but you're not a specialist are you? Just in emergency medicine?"

Biting her lip slightly, Connie replies, "well, I'm actually also a cardiothoracic surgeon. And, bluntly, Mr Sellers, I have to tell you that you need to reassess your priorities. You've been lucky today, but if you continue along the same path for another few weeks? It could be a heart attack."

Breathing deeply, Stephen leans back against the bed. "A heart attack? Really? Just from stress?"

Connie nods, and moves further into the cubicle, reaching over to hand some leaflets to her patient and doing her best to ignore the fact that maybe, she should be listening to this advice for herself too. "Stress has more of an impact on our bodies than we initially realise, Mr Sellers. You need to set aside time for yourself, where you're not thinking about work. It is hard, I fully appreciate, but there is help out there to organise your life. You might also wish to see a counsellor, if there is anything in your life that is specifically causing you stress."

"I, er, yes, well, thank you, doctor," Stephen rambles, leaning forwards and extending a hand to Connie, which she takes gingerly. "I appreciate all of your time and effort – I'll certainly make an appointment. Good day to you, thank you again."

"No problem," Connie says honestly, though her mind is elsewhere, filled with questions of Sam Strachan and stress and whether she even wants to get Centre of Excellence status for the ED. "Goodbye."

* * *

~x~

She enters her office to see Sam sitting at her desk, typing rapidly on the computer.

"I didn't realise that the computer had done anything to hurt you." Connie tries to make a joke as she closes her door firmly, turning the automatic lock on. The blinds are already drawn, so she doesn't have to worry about yet more people ogling her and Sam.

Sam looks up with a tender smile, and pushes his chair away from the desk slightly. "Sorry, sweetheart, I was just keen to get something done," he says gently.

Connie walks across the room and takes a seat on his lap, her attention focused solely on Sam. "Don't be sorry, I'm sorry I'm late," she murmurs, leaning in to press her lips gently to his as she wraps her arms around his neck. "Did you see the patient you were here to see? _Who_ were you here to see?" It's only now that Connie realises just how far out of the loop she is in her own department.

"Yeah, we're not admitting him, he's not particularly serious," Sam says off-hand, his arms wrapped tightly around Connie's body, pulling her closer to him. If the chair was a little bigger, it'd almost be like they're at home together. "Shall we go for lunch?"

"In a minute," Connie murmurs, breathing deeply. There's something comforting about Sam: being with him makes her forget how stressed she is. Which is very. "I just want to spend time with you."

They sit in silence for a minute, before Connie disentangles herself from Sam, keen for something to eat. Whatever he does, he always makes her hungry – which is good, to be honest.

"Oh!" Connie exclaims in a cross between shock and elation. "The paperwork!"

"Yeah, I saw that it was a bit haphazard so I tried to tidy it up a bit," Sam explains. In this moment, Connie loves him more than she ever has before. "I've also reorganised your figures a bit on the spreadsheet so that they're by age rather than type of patient. Age definitely shows a better breakdown for this section of your report, I've checked."

"I love you," Connie whispers, grabbing hold of Sam's tie to pull him closer. "I love you more than you could know."

* * *

~x~

Half an hour after they return from lunch, Connie makes her way up to Henrik Hanssen's office.

"Do you have an appointment?" his secretary asks, and Connie shakes her head.

"No," she says honestly. "But I'm going in regardless. Try and stop me."

She does exactly as she says, and enters Henrik's office to see him eating a rather revolting looking sandwich. Connie thinks it has pickle in it – or maybe gherkin.

"Mrs Beauchamp!" Henrik declares around a mouthful of sandwich. "I wasn't aware that we have a meeting scheduled. Unless you emailed me the information, of course."

Connie rolls her eyes. She's not in the mood for playing games. Instead, she wants to do something proactive about managing her stress levels – without even hinting that she's stressed.

"I want Jac Naylor or Sam Strachan for one day per week." Rather than bothering with niceties, Connie gets straight to the point, taking the seat opposite Henrik. He has a rather nice fruit bowl on his desk; she's tempted to copy his addition of a pear to the bowl.

Henrik raises an eyebrow, and Connie can just sense a sarcastic comment in response. "My, Mrs Beauchamp, what a dark horse you are! I had no idea you liked Ms Naylor in such a manner."

"It's impossible to coordinate a Centre of Excellence bid _from scratch_ as well as run an ED when I've got two locums covering for my members of staff," Connie continues as if he hasn't spoken. "I could spend every day and night here and still not get it all done. And I'm not doing that. It isn't healthy, for me or for the department."

"And why should I give you two of my cardiothoracic surgeons?" Henrik counters, setting the sandwich down. "And why in particular would I give you Sam Strachan? The last time you worked together, you were on the verge of killing each other."

"Jac helped me on the last one, I'm sure she can do the same thing again. And Sam, well, Sam knows how I like the paperwork doing. He's also relatively well trained in the ED way of work – so I can send him to work on the floor, so to speak, rather than losing track of where I am with my report," Connie explains, crossing her legs. "One day per week is hardly a lot to ask, Henrik, when I practically lived on Darwin for five months."

Henrik raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to back down are you?" He then sighs. "I thought you'd want to do this alone, your little pet project."

Connie's mind flashes back to two things: firstly, the sight of Stephen Sellers and secondly, an image of Sam Strachan. "I don't need to prove that I can do it alone," she says honestly. "I'd rather ensure that the department gets its status. This isn't about me. It's about the patients."

Which it is. Which it always has been.

"Very well," Henrik sniffs, though smiles slightly. "I'll let them choose who comes down to assist you. Best of luck with the endeavour, Mrs Beauchamp."

* * *

~x~

Ten days later, the ordeal is over.

"We, the jury, hereby find the defendant, Scott Ellison, guilty of all charges."

Finally, Ethan can begin to heal.

* * *

 **I have to actually write the next chapter, but I hope to have it up within the next few days**


	13. Surgeons

Chapter Thirteen:

 **Apologies for the delay in updating; it's been a busy week!**

* * *

"Are you sure that the holiday's over?" Connie grumbles, as she rolls over in bed to turn her alarm clock off. Well, alarm one of six, anyway. Where she used to be a one alarm woman, sharing her bed with someone has changed her greatly. Getting up means leaving a sleepy Sam Strachan – potentially the most adorable type of Sam Strachan there is.

"No," Sam murmurs into the back of her neck, pulling her tighter to him. "I think Henrik agreed to seventy million weeks off. I'm sure we've got…just under seventy million weeks of holiday left."

"Mmm," Connie agrees, ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of her head that, unfortunately, she does have to go back to work. "Let's just get on the next flight to somewhere hot. Maybe Marrakech. Or the Canary Islands."

"Or Jamaica," Sam suggests, pressing gentle kisses to the back of her neck. "Maybe even Australia."

"Nnmmm," Connie disagrees, without managing to actually get the word out. "Cold there this time of year. But Italy. Mmm, Italy. Pizza."

"Ice cream," Sam agrees, reaching around and over to kiss the front of Connie's neck, his kisses leaving a flush of warm skin wherever they land. "The Vatican. Pasta. _Pasta_."

"Pompeii," Connie adds, smiling at the dream of just getting up and catching a flight to another country. Oh, if they didn't have responsibilities. "Maybe next holiday."

"Or maybe _today_ ," Sam urges, though Connie can tell from the change in his voice that he's aware this is absolutely a pipe dream. "I'm off. You ring in sick. Grace is off already. We're sorted."

At this point, alarm number two goes off, reminding Connie that, whilst she would adore to pack up and go to Italy for a few weeks, there's a department that needs her.

But maybe it needs her an hour later than she had intended to go in…

* * *

~x~

For the first time that she can remember, Connie Beauchamp isn't chomping at the bit to get back to work after a holiday. For the first time, she wishes that the holiday would never end – that she could spend another six or seven weeks with Sam and Grace, travelling the globe.

As she enters the Holby City Emergency Department shortly after seven thirty in the morning on a gloomy August Monday morning, Connie's greeted by an almost eerie silence. There's maybe two patients in the waiting room, and there's none of the usual chatter and hubris which she associates with the front desk of the department.

"Morning," Georgia, the night receptionist, says with a yawn as Connie passes. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

"Yes, it was lovely," Connie replies genuinely, though she continues walking. She doesn't want to get drawn into a conversation with the girl – the last time that that happened, she'd been stuck there for a good few minutes hearing about her relationship problems. "Has something happened?"

Georgia frowns. "What do you mean?"

It's only then that Connie realises that her usually flawless choice of words has been infected with a degree of ambiguity. "There are no patients. There are _always_ patients. Have we been diverting?"

Shrugging, the receptionist presses a few buttons on her keyboard before turning back to Connie. "Not as far as I'm aware, Mrs Beauchamp. It's been quiet all night – maybe all the accident prone people are on holiday or something!" Her relentless optimism surprises Connie, given she's been awake all night.

"Yes, well, perhaps," Connie concedes, deciding it isn't worth pressing home the complete lack of logic in suggesting every accident prone person has fled Holby this weekend. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me."

She walks off before Georgia can attempt to engage her in any form of conversation, increasingly concerned as to the state in which she'll find her office – and her carefully crafted plans for gaining Centre of Excellence status.

.

Forty minutes later, there's a knock at the door, and Connie looks up to see someone she hasn't seen properly for a _very_ long time. Staff Nurse Jacob Masters.

She waves a hand to indicate for Jacob to enter the room, and suddenly feels nervous. This is ridiculous. They haven't been together in almost a year and a half – and it's very close to a year that certain _activities_ in a store cupboard occurred. With someone who absolutely is not Jacob Masters. Yet, despite this, they've barely worked together in months; their rotas never match up, probably due to a conscious effort on Jacob's behalf, and he tends to focus on a different part of the department when they _are_ there together.

"Yes?" Connie says, when it becomes clear that Jacob isn't going to start the conversation. Her voice is harsher than it probably should be, and she makes a conscious decision to try and mellow the next time she speaks. After all, even if it _is_ Jacob, she's just returned from an incredible holiday. There's no need for her to sound even remotely stressed.

"We've got a patient coming in shortly, probably going to be resus, and you're needed," Jacob replies bluntly, which Connie can't exactly comment on. "If you're not too busy, of course."

"That's fine," Connie responds, dropping her pen on top of a neatly stacked pile of files. "What's the ETA?"

"About fifteen minutes," Jacob adds, carefully leaning across so that he isn't actually in her office. Then, clearly attempting to lighten the mood, he continues, "good holiday?"

It's off-putting, and it takes her almost ten seconds to make her brain process that Jacob is asking her about her holiday. A holiday that wasn't just a holiday, but rather a family holiday.

"Er, yeah, good thanks," she replies, stumbling over the words. Which is definitely not a normal Connie Beauchamp trait. "Got a bit burnt at the start, and Grace initially decided that she didn't want to see the pantheon so it took a bit of time to get her to come round but, yes, it was a lovely holiday." She's rambling, and she wants to stop herself, but it's hard. Maybe it's time to try and build a professional work relationship with Jacob – one that isn't based on flirtatious comments and his continual attempts to make her blush.

He doesn't smile back, and the air becomes awkward between them. "Right, well, see you in about fifteen. It's an approximately thirty year old male and he's fallen from a bridge and been impaled on some electrical rods, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know."

Before Connie can reply, Jacob's gone, and she's left wondering how she's going to cope working her first case with him in almost a year.

* * *

~x~

"Right, can I get FBCs, Us and Es, LFT and clotting, an x-ray to see what damage these rods have done to our patient's insides, and a portable scanner to check their position _before_ he goes for the scan, thank you," Connie recites off, her attention focused on the incision point of one of the three rods. One's angled upwards dangerously – not for her, but for her patient. It appears to have made its way towards the thoracic cavity…the only thing she doesn't know is exactly how long these rods are.

Her patient – apparently called Abe, a name which reminds her of her former colleague, Abra Durant – is in too much pain to string together a coherent sentence to explain either why he fell, or how long the rods are. All of the rods at the scene were different lengths, according to Iain and Jess, and they also don't know exactly how long he was there for.

The only information they know for definite is that their patient has rods in him. That's literally it.

"What about a fast bleep to cardiothoracics and Keller?" Jacob interrupts Connie's thoughts sharply, his voice an unwelcome and large intrusion. "Let them know what's incoming? As he won't be down here for long, right?"

Connie rolls her eyes, and is more than a little glad that she's facing away from Jacob. "If you'd like, go ahead," she says through gritted teeth. It isn't worth reminding him that she makes the call on how long a patient stays in resus. "Though if you think they're going to come running down because we've got an impaled patient – injuries we know nothing about – you've got another thing coming."

"Well I'm going to do it anyway," Jacob fires back, his fiery voice the polar opposite of Connie's ice. "After all, we are actually going to need a _surgeon_ , aren't we?"

She decides not to respond. It isn't worth it.

.

Twenty minutes later, Abe is back from his x-ray, and Connie has the results of that on one tablet, and the images from his fastscan on the other. It isn't good news; it appears one rod is moving ever closer to the heart and lungs: each breath could be Abe's last. Despite the support they've put in place for the rods, one refuses to stay; it will be his undoing.

"What did cardiothoracics say when you bleeped them?" Connie asks with a sigh, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Abe seems to be losing blood faster than they can get it in him, and the other rods don't exactly add to his health, either. It's just that, at this moment, the highest rod poses the greatest threat.

"Um, there's only Jac in and she's in an emergency operation," Jacob replies, and once again, Connie rolls her eyes. It's been three years since he arrived at Holby City Hospital, and Jacob still finds it impossible to address consultants – or even doctors – by their titles.

"Right, fine," Connie replies dismissively, and reaches into her pocket for her phone. What's the point in dating a cardiothoracic surgeon if she can't get some favours?

When she taps her phone screen, she sees that she's had four missed calls from Sam, and two voicemails. Never a good sign – but he should know that she doesn't listen to voicemails unless she has to! Instead, she gives him a call back, but it goes straight to voicemail. So she tries again. And again.

Finally, she stops trying, and dials Grace. Sam's supposed to be off today to look after Grace, as she couldn't get into her holiday club programme until the Tuesday.

"Hello Gracie," Connie says with a smile as Grace answers her phone. "How are you?"

Jacob sighs. "Are you ringing _Grace_ right now? _Really_?"

Connie turns around and shoots him a piercing glare as she continues, "that's good, Gracie. Is your dad there? He's not answering his phone."

"He tried to ring you," Grace begins, the line making her voice crackly. "I was meant to, but I forgot, sorry. He got asked to go to work, so he dropped me at Grandma's for the day. Which is _so boring_." Her voice drops to a whisper as she says the last bit, and Connie snorts. Whilst Grace certainly gets on with her grandmother a great deal better than Connie, she still isn't her biggest fan. Visiting the Strachan matriarch's main benefit for Grace, however, is that she gets spoilt every visit.

"That's fine, thanks for letting me know, sweetheart," Connie replies, turning back towards her patient. Abe's blood pressure has gone through the floor again, but there's not really much she can do about it, not down here. "I'll pick you up later. Love you."

As soon as she puts the phone down, Jacob's in her face. "Is ringing the family _really_ the most appropriate thing to do in here?"

Setting her back, Connie squares up to him, her hands on hips, until she shakes her head and turns away. This isn't the mature way to deal with him. "I've just discovered that Sam's at _work_ , which means there's an extra cardiothoracic surgeon in the building," she explains, her voice icy. "So now I'm going to try the Darwin theatres. You can try the Keller ones, and see if we can get a team together before it's too late to bother trying."

Both theatres are busy, however, and the theatre managers both tell her that it's going to be at least two hours until either patient is stable enough to come out. Things are a little better down on Keller – Sacha Levy will be out within forty minutes, and Dominic Copeland might be free to takeover in as little as twenty – but that's pointless. Without a cardiothoracic surgeon, they might as well as give up now.

"Right," Connie says decisively, raising her voice. "Get me curtains, sterile equipment, an anaesthetist, and as much surgical equipment as you can gather. Same goes for swabs. I'll remove the rod down here."

To her amazement, nobody questions her.

Well, nobody other than Jacob.

"Are you absolutely _mental_?" Jacob half-shouts, clearly forgetting the chain of command. "You're not a surgeon anymore, Connie! You can't just decide to operate on someone in _resus_."

She shoots him a glare as she walks off towards her office to change into scrubs. "Clearly you've forgotten where I spent five months recently, Staff Nurse _Masters_ ," she replies icily. "I'm Abe's only hope."

"But not down here, you can't!"

Connie turns back briefly to add, "I'm Clinical Lead. I decide what I can and can't do. Do you _want_ our patient to die?"

"No, of course not." Jacob takes a step closer, and Connie takes a step backwards. This reminds her too much of the heated arguments they used to have before they became lovers. And, unlike back then, that's certainly something she doesn't want to happen now.

"Then stop questioning my decisions and get on with making them happen – like the rest of the team!"

"Are you on some form of power trip?" Jacob throws at her, just as she's about to leave resus. "Need to make sure that we'll do whatever you say, is that it? Because this is the worst idea you've ever had."

"If you have an issue with my practice, take it up with Henrik. I'll be back shortly." She keeps her voice as steady as possible, and doesn't even have to breathe sharply to control her heartrate.

He isn't even worth her anger.

* * *

~x~

"So, been kicking any guys in the face recently then, Lil?"

Lily turns around at the workstation to see Iain Dean, paramedic, approaching her. She still refers to him as Iain Dean, paramedic, in her mind because to do any more than that hurts more than she'll admit.

Since their talk a couple of months ago, they've been steady work friends. As in, they've not particularly socialised outside of work – except for the two times that Iain persuaded Lily to come to the pub after work – but they're friendly _at_ work, and sometimes go for coffee. Once, Iain even brought his lunch into the hospital just so that he could eat with Lily, which was more than lovely

But the issue remains that Lily Chao wants to be _more_ than friends with Iain Dean. Which is why she's keen to keep their friendship restricted to the workplace. Because socialising with him _outside_ of work…it would hurt more than she's willing to admit. And she definitely isn't willing to admit it to Iain. As far as she can tell, he's perfectly content just being friends; the only sticking point in that idea in Lily's mind is the fact that he hasn't dated (or even been with, as far as she's aware) anyone since their night last summer.

"Only those who asked to be," Lily replies, smiling a little as she makes eye contact with Iain. "How is your shift today?"

Iain shrugs, and when he smiles, it lights up his whole face. "Do many people ask?"

Lily smiles wider, and shrugs herself. "You'd be surprised."

Laughing slightly, Iain leans against the workstation, his forearms stretched across the desk. They're close enough to touch, and it's hard for Lily to stop herself reaching out for him. Friends – let alone work friends – don't touch each other randomly.

"But yeah the shift isn't too bad thanks," Iain replies, a strangely intense look on his face. "Jess wants to drive the ambo, and got mad when I refused. Tried to tell her that even _Jez_ barely got to drive, and she still didn't listen. Women."

This time, Lily shoots him a look. " _Women_ is not an appropriate thing to say when _one_ person is annoying you, Iain." She taps his arm lightly, making it clear that it's a disapproving action. "Plus, she's training. Surely she will have to learn to drive the ambulance at _some_ point? Why not today?" She tries her best not to sound too judgemental, but realises quickly that she doesn't actually care.

Iain is taken aback, but nods. "Er, yeah, good point," he concedes, shifting his body weight slightly. "Maybe – _maybe_ – I'll let her drive later. No promises though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Lily says, smiling once again. It's nice to see even Iain paying attention to her. "Have you got much longer left?"

"Nah, just another three or four hours," Iain responds, now tapping his fingers. "Just waiting for Jess to finish her first solo transfer, and then we'll be back off out. When do you finish?"

Lily takes a brief look up at the clock, and then makes eye contact with Iain once again. "Um, about four hours, if things stay as quiet as they are at the moment. Touch wood." She immediately touches the top of the workstation, hoping that the wood content is high enough for her to not be jinxed. Not that she really believes in jinxes, but it's never wrong to be careful.

"Um, well, do you fancy maybe getting a drink or something later?" Iain asks. "Just us two?"

Immediately, Lily freezes, and she can feel the smile slipping off of her face. "I…I don't think…that would be a good idea," she mumbles, barely coherently. "I'll see you another time, Iain."

And with that, she walks swiftly away from the workstation, leaving a confused looking Iain behind her.

* * *

~x~

As he watches her walk away, Iain Dean can't quite believe what's happening.

He thought…he thought that she liked him back. That, despite the horrible things he said and she hinted at, last summer, they were back on track – and stronger than before. Because, this time, they know each other better; they've actually developed a strong, coherent friendship as a basis for something more. It's definitely worked for him; he grows more and more enamoured by her practically every day.

And it's all blown back in his face. And, maybe, he's lost her as a friend.

"Alright, Iain?" Charlie's voice startles Iain from his thoughts, and he realises that the white-haired nurse has filled the place where Lily was standing just seconds ago. Or maybe it's been minutes; he always loses track of time when he's thinking about Lily Chao.

"Er, yeah," Iain replies, a knee-jerk reaction, before he thinks, why not just tell him? After all, Charlie knows enough about what he feels for Lily. He might as well be frank. "I think I've blown it, Charlie. With Lily, I mean."

Charlie's eyebrow raises as he continues to meet Iain's gaze. "And how's that?"

Heaving a big sigh, Iain shrugs. "I thought we were getting along better – as friends. More than friends. I don't know. So I thought, why not ask her for a drink. Do things properly this time, rather than rushing straight into it. And she blew me off, completely and utterly."

"Have you thought about things from her point of view?" Charlie asks, the voice of reason as always.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you both said some horrible things to each other, and you've finally become friends – proper friends, as you say – and then you've asked her for a drink. You've not exactly made it clear where you're coming from: and why would she want to go for a drink with _just_ you when she doesn't know what that entails?"

Sometimes, Iain thinks that Charlie's wasted as a nurse.

"Good point," Iain agrees, sighing again. "I should have actually said something. And maybe outside of work. There's something about asking her here that makes it feel like we're just work friends…" He thinks through what Charlie's said. There's definitely some truth to it. He does need to see things from Lily's perspective. And doing that reminds him of the fact that, whilst she said some things to him, he initiated the verbal clash – and said some pretty damn awful things. It's unsurprising that his ambiguous words would make her close off again.

"Glad to hear it," Charlie adds with a knowing smile on his face. "She's going for lunch in about fifteen minutes apparently. If, you know, you wanted to talk to her outside of this building."

It's at this point that Jess returns, tossing her long braids over her shoulder as she leans on the desk next to Iain.

"Does that mean we're getting an early lunch break, boss?" She asks with a grin, grabbing her phone out of her jacket pocket. "Because I am _starving_."

"Guess so."

* * *

~x~

It takes less than ten minutes to get one side of resus prepared for surgery, and another fifteen to remove the most dangerous of the three rods, but Connie manages to send Abe up to the Keller theatre alive. It's touch and go still, and that won't change for the next few days, but he has a fighting chance. When she managed to remove the rod, she found it less than a centimetre away from the aorta. The rate at which it had moved suggested that, had she listened to Jacob and _not_ operated, Abe would have died waiting for theatre.

Taking a deep breath, Connie stands upright, no longer using the wall as support. The adrenaline which ran through her veins throughout the operation has gone, leaving her feeling strangely weak. Nobody talks about the crash which follows the euphoric high of surgery; perhaps they should.

She looks down at the floor, seeing a familiar sight of a standard theatre. A fair amount of blood, some saturated swabs and sutures which split before she'd managed to get them into place. Faint imprints of where her scrub shoes have gone through the blood, the well-worn tread evident in their lack of detail.

"Hey," Jacob says softly, crossing the room hesitantly. It's strange how such a large man can portray hesitation, and yet he still manages it.

"Staff Nurse Masters," Connie acknowledges him, her voice weary. She has to gather the strength to go back to the day of work – which has only really just begun – but she doesn't have the energy for an argument. In all honesty, she got out most of her pent-up frustration at Jacob in their earlier argument.

"Look, I just wanted to say…I'm sorry, for undermining you," Jacob says, surprising Connie slightly. So he _does_ know how to apologise? "And suggesting that you're mad for operating. Of course you're competent – and, you're the boss. You decide what goes down."

Connie nods slowly. "Thank you," she says, looking up and making eye contact with Jacob. She doesn't smile, and she doesn't apologise in reverse – she has nothing to apologise for.

"I just…" Jacob continues, and Connie tenses. He's said all the nice, necessary stuff; anything that involves him starting a sentence and then trailing off suggests that it isn't something she's going to want to hear. "It seemed like you were just trying to relive the glory days of upstairs by going straight to surgery as the best course of action. And weren't listening to any other course."

Maybe there's a shred of truth in that. "I went straight to surgery, Jacob, because it was the best course of action for our patient," Connie argues back. "Would I have if the only surgical experience I had was as a junior doctor? Of course not! But why risk the avoidable death of a patient when I'm perfectly qualified?"

"True," Jacob concedes. "But you could have just stabilised him."

"I could have," Connie agrees, "but how long do you think he would have remained stable for? Would Mr Levy be able to remove the lower rods when the highest one was almost in the patient's heart? If you're not sure, the answer is no. And if there's no cardiothoracic surgeon around, no rods are getting removed."

"Where was Sam?" Jacob's voice is tense, and Connie realises this is the first time they've talked about him in over a year.

" _Mr Strachan_ is in theatre, with a complex case," Connie stresses, making it clear that she doesn't want this conversation to turn personal. " _You_ were on the phone to the theatre managers up on Darwin. You know this as well as I do."

She moves quickly away from the quasi-theatre, passed Jacob on her way out of resus. "I accept your apology, Staff Nurse Masters. Next time, don't question my competency in such a manner," she adds, turning briefly before making her way back towards her office.

* * *

~x~

Three hours later, and there's _yet another_ knock on Connie's door, and she's on the verge of preparing her ice-cold tirade about why they should respect the fact that the door is _closed_ , when she looks up to see someone she didn't expect to see.

Ric Griffin.

It's been longer than she cares to admit since they last had a conversation outside of the boardroom. They perpetually agree to arrange to do something sociable, yet never quite manage it – a prior commitment gets in the way, or Grace's school play, or an emergency case in theatre. Though the last one is always Ric nowadays, unfortunately, rather than Connie.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Connie says with her best approximation of a smile, as she tries to dilute the anger bubbling inside of her.

The older gentleman smiles as he closes the door behind him slowly, before walking across to take a seat opposite Connie. He must be beyond retirement age now, though Connie's never been one to make judgements about someone's age. Competency matters above all else.

"How have you been, Connie?" Ric's voice is just as she remembers it.

"Not bad," she says, deciding it's unwise to get into the details of the power play that her senior nurse manager is getting into. "Yourself? And have you seen Jac on your way down, by any chance?" She frowns slightly; Jac had arranged to be down here an hour ago to discuss the Centre of Excellence bid, but she has failed to materialise.

"Things could always be better," Ric acknowledges, a slight smile on his face. "Good holiday?"

In spite of herself, Connie smiles and nods. Screw professionalism, at least for the duration of this conversation. "Amazing," she admits. "Greece has such beauty – and so much culture!"

"And did Grace enjoy this culture?" Ric asks.

"She did when it involved ice cream and the chance to hug a dog," Connie concedes, smiling at the memory of the compromise they made on the last Friday: if she climbed to the top of the hill, she could take their hotel's dog for a walk. "It was nice to have a break though, I have to admit."

"Yes, I understand that this is your first holiday since your return to Holby?" Ric confirms. "Anyway, yes, well, I'm here for reasons twofold. Firstly, Jac asked me to let you know that herself _and_ Sam are going to be in theatre for the rest of the day. There's been some complications with some of the patients at a local cardio convention – ironic, I know." He laughs, and Connie joins him.

"Ah," Connie replies, letting out a slow breath. "Well, that's no matter, I'm sure I'll survive."

"And secondly, I'm here because I _think_ I have a solution for your little historical statistics problem," Ric continues, and Connie feels her jaw drop.

"How did you…?" she trails off, realising she probably already knows who told him.

"I hope you don't mind, but Sam mentioned something in passing and it got me thinking," Ric adds, confirming Connie's suspicions. But she can't bring herself to get mad at Sam about sharing her personal information – something she told him in private. He's done something to try and help her – and it hasn't exactly revealed any weaknesses on Connie's behalf, has it?

"You actually still have a working brain?" Connie jests, but Ric merely shoots her a look.

"It'd be a bit of work, but we've got statistics on Keller – and there's probably some on AAU – about all of our patients for the last thirteen years at least," Ric continues. "As I'm sure you recall, when you arrived as…ahem, _Medical Director_ , you made sure that we kept more thorough records of referrals and the like. It would take some time, but I'm sure we could sort through them and get a pretty accurate picture of how many patients required further care…it wouldn't be a complete picture, but it'd be better than nothing."

Her jaw remains open, agape at the dexterity of the solution. Of course she had set that practice up! Surely she should have remembered!

"That's…brilliant," Connie finally manages to say, a smile spreading onto her lips. "I…yes, that would be amazing. Thank you, Ric."

"Not a problem," Ric replies firmly, a smile on his face. "After all, we Clinical Leads need to stick together, don't we? But don't worry, I'll start the paperwork haul upstairs – I know you must be busy down here."

"I could kiss you right now," Connie says, almost without thinking, causing Ric to laugh.

"Whilst I'm sure that would be lovely, I don't much fancy fighting young Mr Strachan," Ric retorts playfully, with more than a hint of cheek. "After all, I'm an old man now, Connie. I can hardly be getting involved in the office fisticuffs. I'll just stay and sub in for Sam – or Jac, whomever was supposed to be down here today."

It's a lovely, kind, generous offer, but Connie's immediately suspicious. Ric doesn't normally just volunteer to help – let alone with paperwork. He's a typical middle (or upper) aged man: he needs prompting, at least occasionally, to think of other people. And there's only one person he works relatively closely with who might suggest that Connie needs a hand. After all, Sam's already spoken to Ric about her paperwork problem…what else could he have mentioned?

But Connie forces herself to smile, and pushes these questions beneath. It wouldn't do to throw the gesture back in Ric's face – and anyway, she's looking forward to spending some time with him.

"That would be lovely," Connie says kindly, picking her pen back up. "We can reminisce about the old times."

"Not too much though, I don't think this heart could take it! I'm an old man, Connie."

"Good job I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon then, isn't it?"

* * *

~x~

She's surprised when she walks out of the staffroom, purse in hand, to see Iain Dean waiting for her with two cups of coffee. After their non-conversation earlier, Lily had hoped to avoid Iain for the foreseeable future – until he forgot that she ran away when he asked her out for a drink.

"Hey," Iain says with a smile, proffering the larger of the two cups towards Lily. "You're on your lunch break now, right?"

Lily can't stop herself from smiling back. He's addictive. "I am," she confirms, reaching out to take the coffee from Iain. "Thanks…" she adds, trailing off. There's something she wants to ask, but she can't quite find the words to put it into a sentence.

"Want to go for a walk?" Iain suggests, and Lily nods. That's exactly what she was going to say – why couldn't she put together such a simple sentence?

"Can we go via the main hospital shop?" Lily asks, already beginning to walk towards the interior of the hospital. "The one near the lift to get upstairs actually stocks rice cakes! Can you believe it?" She can't quite believe that she's getting excited over _rice cakes_ – to Iain no less – but these seem to be the only words coming out of her mouth.

Iain laughs briefly as he catches up to her, making sure that they're walking side by side. "Sure thing. I'll get myself a _normal_ snack on the way. Us paramedics need to eat, you know."

They talk about anything and nothing for the duration of the walk to the shop and out into the hospital grounds, but Lily feels a noticeable change to the atmosphere between the two of them as they exit the hospital. And it becomes even more prominent when they leave the grounds. For the first time in a year, they're together outside of the hospital, alone. This isn't a good idea.

Before Lily can say anything – or turn back to go back to the ED – Iain speaks. "Look, I wasn't very clear earlier, and I'm sorry," he begins, turning his body slightly so that he's facing. They've slowed slightly, their pace now barely more than a crawl, and walking in a straight line isn't an excuse to not look at him. "I like you. And I'm pretty sure you like me, too. As more than friends."

He breaks off, and it's clear that he's waiting for something from Lily – just quite what, she doesn't know.

"I like you too," Lily affirms slowly, taking a bite of her rice cake. "As…more than friends."

Iain grins slightly, and some of the awkwardness dissipates; the rest remains, as it's clear neither of them know exactly where to go from here.

"Right, well I'm glad we got that sorted," Iain says, a new tone of confidence in his voice. "Because I really, really like you, Lil. More than anyone, ever."

"I like you a lot, too," Lily admits. "But I don't want to rush this."

"Good idea," Iain says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "How about a drink tonight? Maybe some food?"

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

~x~

It's a little after four thirty in the afternoon when Elle Gardner arrives in the ED for her night shift. She's half an hour early, because there's something she needs to do. Something she's been thinking about doing for weeks, having been in two minds about whether it's a good idea or not.

Something which, on the spur of the moment last night after one and a half bottles of wine, she decided is the best idea for her.

Connie isn't in her office, so Elle slides an envelope under the door, dated in the upper right hand corner.

And with that move, she has twenty one shifts left to work at Holby City Hospital.

* * *

 **Hopefully I'll get an update out later this week. Please leave your thoughts :)**


	14. Conflicts

Chapter Fourteen

 **Thanks for all your reviews so far, it really does make my day to read them!**

 **Thanks to my tumblr friends for helping me with bits of this chapter**

* * *

On any ordinary day, the sun shining on her beautifully planted roses and hyacinths in the front garden would be enough to make Connie Beauchamp smile.

Not today, however.

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam calls through from the kitchen when he hears the front door open and close. "Good day at work?"

Connie doesn't reply as she slams her keys on the hook, dropping her bag with a thud as she leans down to undo her shoes. There are days that it doesn't feel like she's wearing seven-inch heels, and there are days that she can feel every day that she has worn them. Today is one of the latter days. Fitting, really, given her mood has gone through the floor.

"Con?" Sam says, sounding confused, as he pops his head through the kitchen door to see Connie entering. "You alright, darling?"

It takes great effort to disguise the fury in her expression as she looks up at him, but she doesn't quite manage to smile. In the back of her mind, Connie wants to explode at Sam straight away, but she doesn't quite know if Grace's friend is here yet. And nothing is worth the embarrassment of having Grace's school friends – and their parents – knowing that she can't keep her cool.

So Connie keeps her voice low as she approaches Sam, stopping more than a metre away so that he can't get the impression that she wants a kiss, before she says, "do _you_ want to know if I'm alright, or are you simply a middle man for Ric Griffin?" Her words are full of malice and indignation – but also of embarrassment, of concern for the privacy of her home life.

Sam's brow furrows in confusion, and if she wasn't mad, Connie's heart would jump. But she is, so she pushes aside any part of her that thinks that Sam Strachan is _cute_ , something which is helped as he disappears from view into the kitchen.

She follows, closing the door behind her to stop their voices travelling up the stairs,

"Con? What's going on?" Sam's confusion, to her irritated ears, sounds forced – and Connie decides to call him out on it.

"Don't play dumb, Sam; it doesn't suit you," Connie spits out, turning around so that she's facing him. Not wearing heels just accentuates their height difference, but she thinks that her anger makes her feel a thousand feet taller.

The furrowed brow is joined by a slightly irritated look. "I don't get what you mean about Ric, Con. I thought he's been helping you with the statistics?"

His ignorance grates on her. " _I know_ he has, Sam! That's the point!" Realising that she isn't making the most sense, Connie continues. "He also knows that I hate red wine – which isn't something that has _ever_ come up in a board meeting – and thinks that I need babysitting to keep me calm! Which _is not true_! And how does he know this, Sam?" Her question is rhetorical, but Sam's lack of answer irritates her further, despite the implausibility of an answer.

"Ah," Sam says slowly, shaking his head. "I don't believe this. You're mad that I told Ric about your issue with the statistics, aren't you? Even though he actually had a good idea – and he told you about it a _week_ ago – you're mad at me. I knew you've been off since then."

" _Excuse me_?" Connie says, outraged. "I've been off? No, Sam, I didn't like that you've been telling him things about me, but I dealt with it because…because it helped, and I don't care if you share _work related_ things with Ric Griffin or anyone else in that hospital. But when it comes to things that I tell you – and only you – and you go and share them with people who I'm competing against, Sam, that's when I have a problem."

There's a brief beat of silence before Sam laughs. Actually laughs, as in he throws his head back and laughs in Connie's completely confused face.

"You're kidding me, right?" Sam says, looking back into Connie's face. "You're mad that I mentioned – off-hand, might I add – to Ric Griffin that you don't like red wine? Connie, I love you, but you've lost it."

"It isn't about the wine, but about what it signifies!" Connie insists, losing some of the anger from her tone as she speaks. "It's about the fact that…we are something. And you know a lot about me that other people don't. And you'll learn more. But I don't tell you these things for you to then go and tell them to people who don't know about me for a reason! Especially not at work."

Sam rolls his eyes. "So you're saying I can't just have a conversation with someone at work about what I did this weekend because it might involve sharing a random piece of information about you that Ric Griffin or Sacha Levy or, god forbid, _Jac Naylor_ doesn't know about you?" Snorting a little, Sam fixes Connie with a stern expression. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible. We're part of each other's lives – you're going to come up in conversations about my life! It isn't as if Ric's going to gather up this information and use it against you as a weapon!"

"How do you know that?" Connie shoots back, her hands on her hips. "Clinical Leads are always in competition, Sam. How do you know that he won't use one of these things against me?"

"Con, you have to chill out a bit and stop seeing _everything_ as a competition!" Sam responds quickly, his tone harsh. "It isn't. Not everyone is out to get you – or us, or Grace, or whatever it is that you're worried about. I'm not going to stop talking about my life at work, and I can't believe you're asking me to!"

"I don't want people to know about me, Sam!" Connie cries out, her voice inching louder and louder with every word. "You don't know these people like I do. And anyway, I like things to be kept private. Just like we're separate at work and at home, I am."

Taking a step back, Sam shakes his head again, running a hand through his hair. "You're being ridiculous," he begins, and his words have the anger rising in Connie again. "And more than that, you're being completely unfair. This isn't just about you any more, it's about both of us – _all_ of us. And for you to demand that I keep my personal and work lives so separate that nobody in either sphere knows anything about the other…is ludicrous. It's also unrealistic."

Before Connie replies, her eye catches sight of the clock on the wall. Grace's friend should be here soon. And she doesn't want anyone else to hear this argument – despite the fact that there is a lot more that she could say.

"We'll discuss this later," Connie says stiffly, setting her face in a stern glare. "Grace's friend will be here soon."

"Can't wait."

.

The moment that both Grace and Hannah are in Hannah's dad's car, and their front door is closed, the argument continues.

"What the hell was that charade you've just put us through?" Sam half-shouts, turning and facing Connie as he points towards the now-empty kitchen. "Pretending that we're some sort of perfect happy family to which nothing bad can happen? _Very_ mature, Connie!"

Immediately, Connie can feel the anger rising in her as she takes a step closer to Sam, poised and ready for war. "Excuse me? All I did was make Hannah feel welcome – a damn sight more than you did!"

Sam snorts. "You're kidding, right? Did you miss how uncomfortable Grace looked through dinner, with you talking about how great she is at everything?"

"Did you miss the fact that she initiated the conversation?" Connie retorts, shaking her head slowly. This is a side of Sam Strachan that she hasn't seen in quite a while – and she'd forgotten how maddeningly infuriating it is. "Or did you just want to try and make a scene in front of our daughter's best friend?"

"All I wanted was for Grace to have her friend over for dinner and have a nice time, which clearly didn't happen!" Sam takes a step closer too, and Connie can see the fire in his eyes. "Not when you have to try and make out that everything is perfect between us! The kid doesn't care about whether or not we're a good team, Connie; she cared about when she was getting pizza and if there was ice-cream for dessert!"

"Perfect between us?" Connie repeats, her tone becoming incredulous. "All I said was that it was nice for Grace to have both of us around. I certainly didn't make out as if we're some sort of dream couple."

"So why were you touching my arm, laughing at everything I said, giving me compliments every two seconds?" Sam's shouting now, his voice raised to match Connie's. "And then the moment that the kid had looked away, you were shooting me daggers! You can't have it both ways, Connie."

Somehow, they've made it into the living room, with Connie standing on one side and Sam on the other.

"Well now you know how it feels to be in _my_ shoes, Sam," she spits at him, biting her lip and shaking her head. "Can't have it both ways? Well neither can you!"

"Playing happy families is not the same as talking to your co-workers about the fact that you went to the opera with your partner, or that you'd really like to go to Mauritius but _Connie_ gets bitten really badly by mosquitoes so it's probably not the best idea! Hardly life changing topics of conversation, is it?"

" _I wasn't playing happy families!_ " Connie says loudly, her composure breaking. "And you've never once tried to listen properly to why I don't want you to tell everyone about my life, Sam! You've just steamrollered over my opinion or my reasons for anything to do with it!"

Sam laughs, and normally, such a sound would break the tension. Today, it merely adds to it.

"Steamroller over your opinion?" Sam repeats, raising his hands in the air. "Give me strength, Connie. We both know that you're the only steamroller in this house!" Pausing, he looks down at the knit throw on the sofa and picks it up, throwing it across the room to Connie. "I _hate_ knitwear, but no you have to ignore my thoughts on it, but it's still a family throw! I _hate_ this shade of blue – and you know it – but you still buy me shirts in this colour and guilt me into wearing them!" This time, he points towards the shirt that he's wearing, his expression disgusted.

"Excuse me? Well, I hate wooden ornaments and yet, look what we have over here, some wooden ornaments!" Connie picks a giraffe shaped one up and throws it at Sam, secretly grateful that it doesn't break. "That dress you bought me? Absolutely hideous, the most unflattering thing I've ever worn. But I wore it! Because _you_ bought me it! And let's not even get started on the fact that we have to watch what you want to on tv or you'll go in a mood."

"At least I actually know how to cook breakfast food, unlike someone," Sam shoots back. The argument's changed slightly, to be less about work and more about the niggles of their relationship. "And I don't take up half of the bed by rolling over all night."

"You told me that was cute," Connie retorts, beginning to shake with anger. "I don't leave urine all over the bathroom floor, or drop food on the floor and think, oh let's just let the dog eat it! And you have no idea how much you snore."

"I snore because if I didn't go to sleep before you, I'd be up all night because you _don't stop doing paperwork_ ," Sam shouts, looking across at the dining room table and its numerous piles of paperwork. "But no, paperwork is the priority!"

Sam storms across to the dining room table and starts to pick up the random leftover pieces of stationery, throwing them towards Connie with disdain. "Must have the best, most professional and perfect looking reports, oh yes! Must use amazing quality stationery, oh yes! Let's not remember that you have someone in the bed next to you who doesn't care about what colour highlighter you use, no, because work is the most important thing!"

"That's because I have the mental capacity to deal with more than one thing at a time, Sam!" Connie retorts, looking across at the DVD cabinet. Might as well match him for pettiness. "I don't enjoy watching stupid Jason Bourne films or horrors or anything else that you want to watch, but at least doing some paperwork gets me through some of the worst bits. It isn't my fault that you struggle to multitask, is it?" She throws one, two, three films at Sam, punctuating her comments on Jason Bourne and secretly hoping that she's throwing the right cases.

"Well at least I'm secure enough to know that sharing my likes and dislikes among people I work with isn't automatically going to make me a sheep among wolves," Sam shoots back, and Connie takes a step backwards, the wind knocked out of her. That's a personal attack on a level that she wasn't expecting. Despite the expression she knows must be on her face, however, Sam continues, "and I'm secure enough in our relationship to know that I can talk about _anything_ with my partner without worrying!"

The fight's gone out of her; Connie simply shrugs as she murmurs, "yes, well, I'd best go do some paperwork. At least you won't have anyone taking up the bed." The fact that he won't be sharing her bed tonight is tacitly implicit in her words, but Sam doesn't respond. As she walks out of the room, shoulder slumped, Connie can't stop his words going round and round in her mind, and knows that she won't sleep well tonight.

* * *

~x~

Sunday morning slowly rolls round, and Connie finds herself wide awake at a little after six in the morning. She's supposed to be off today, but she can't bear the thought of staying in a house with someone she isn't talking to.

All night, she's been focused on his words. He's hit the nail on the head: she's insecure about a lot of things, primarily the things outside of her control. She likes to control the information people have about her, so that she can help to create an image of herself in their heads – someone who has no weaknesses.

Looking at her phone screen and seeing more than fifty new emails, Connie gets up. She isn't sure if she's shivering at the cold or Sam's notable absence, but she ignores it as she heads to the bathroom to get ready. She might as well head into work; there's always the need for an extra pair of hands on a Sunday, and she'd rather be dealing with vomiting patients than thinking about Sam's words for another minute.

.

It's only eight in the morning when Connie reaches Holby City Hospital, but her department's already a madhouse. Or perhaps it's leftovers from the night before, not that it matters. Waiting patients are having to stand because of a lack of seats, and there's a perpetually harassed expression on Noel's face as Connie approaches him.

"Someone will be with you shortly," Noel says to a shouting woman in front of him. "Hello, Mrs B. Didn't realise you were in today."

Connie pulls her coat tighter around herself as she shrugs. "Heard that you could do with a hand," she explains, more of a mumble than anything else as she speeds up passed the desk on the way to her office. Anything to distract her from the words that she can still hear, the expression she can still see on Sam's face every time she closes her eyes.

Within five minutes, she's treating a patient in cubicles, though it takes her another fifteen minutes to realise why everything feels so different to normal. She's not wearing her Louboutin heels. Perhaps that's where her confidence has gone.

"Mrs Beauchamp?" Connie turns to hear a voice calling her: Alicia Munroe. "I'm really sorry to interrupt, but there's been a fight in reception and the police have been called. Are you able to head out there?"

Sighing a little, Connie nods. "Yes that's fine, can you take over here please?" she replies, gesturing to the unconscious patient on the bed. "Male, mid-sixties, discovered on a path unconscious with a strong smell of alcohol upon his body. That's everything."

As she heads back out to the reception she left merely twenty minutes before, Connie wonders how she ever thought that this department was nearly ready for her to depart. Or even ready for Centre of Excellence status.

* * *

~x~

"I just wanted to say…good work in there," Dylan Keogh says to Drishti Batra slowly as they walk out of resus together, tiredness evident in both of their faces. "You spotted that bleed and connected it to the CT scan. Nobody else did. It's because of you that he's still alive."

Drishti doesn't bother to try and conceal the smile that's appearing on her face. For once, she's earned Dylan Keogh's praise. That makes it all worthwhile – well, that and the fact that she's saved a patient's life.

"Thanks, Doctor Keogh," she replies slowly, looking across to make eye contact with him for the first time since the emergency thoracotomy she performed ten minutes ago.

"Dylan," he corrects her, and Drishti feels the blush rising on her cheeks. "I mean it, Drishti. You've got a really bright future ahead of you."

The conversation's taken a heavier turn than Drishti anticipated, and she's glad that they turn into a slightly less hectic corridor to continue the conversation. It's almost by accident, but she's glad it's happened nonetheless. The day – in fact, the week – has been so hectic that they've barely worked any cases together, despite the fact that he's her mentor.

"Thanks," Drishti mumbles, a little embarrassed. She's glad that she's receiving these compliments – especially from Dylan – but she isn't entirely sure why he's giving her them. Whilst he's been a much more patient, and almost even _nice_ , mentor since they went for dinner a couple of months ago, there's been an ambiguity to their relationship ever since. Not quite friends, not quite colleagues, not quite anything else. Not even just Drishti and Doctor Keogh – because he's now happy for her to call him Dylan.

Looking down at her watch briefly, Drishti notices that it's lunchtime, meaning that they've both worked for about five hours without pausing for a breath, let alone a break. Perhaps it's the thirst talking, but Drishti finds herself asking, "do you fancy going to grab a coffee…Dylan?"

Though she soon forgets about the thirst when he doesn't even pause before saying, "yes."

* * *

~x~

"Why did I think I could have it all?" Connie mutters to herself, barely inches away from tears, as she drops into the seat in her office. She's been at work for almost six hours now, and things have just gotten worse throughout this time. First there was the fight, then there was the revelation that half of her staff don't actually do any work when she's not around, then all the IT systems went down for two hours. Every time a patient is discharged, another four seem to appear – and the end seems to be getting further and further away.

She thought that things were changing around here. That, because of her, the ED is a better place, more disciplined, more motivated. More focused on getting things done – and an improvement in patient care as a result. But perhaps she's blinded herself, forced herself to see change that hasn't happened, and maybe her relationship is to blame. That's been going so well, that and her relationship with her daughter, that perhaps she's cherry picked the bits of work that she _wants_ to see, rather than the work that she can actually see. Maybe rushing through paperwork so that she can spend the evening with Sam – someone who clearly doesn't love her as much as she thought – has been a bad idea.

Because it appears that even her relationship isn't brilliant. All relationships have their flaws, their breaking points, their niggles…but this seems to be more than that. Connie's sure she isn't overreacting as she thinks through what happened last night. Maybe they _aren't_ good for each other. Maybe her love for knit throws and his love for wooden animal figurines are incompatible. Or maybe it's the fact that neither of them seem willing to compromise – or, it transpires, to actually share their annoyances with the other.

It's been one hell of a honeymoon year, but maybe that's all this relationship has been: a honeymoon. Because if there's nothing substantial underneath the love and affection other than the fact that they want to be a family unit for Grace, how _can_ they survive?

As she takes a sip of the water on her desk, Connie can't think what to do. The ED is worse than she thought, that's pretty clear. She's almost certainly not going to get Centre of Excellence status. She needs to stop slacking, and put the graft in that her team deserves – to make sure that they get their acts together at the very least.

At least she'll have the time to, now that it appears that her relationship is over.

~x~

Feelings and affection for anyone other than Dervla have been pretty much absent since Zoe left. Dylan can't remember the last time that he felt something romantically for someone. Well, he can, but he chooses to forget about Sam Nicholls as much as he can.

At any rate, he's never felt anything quite like what he feels for Drishti Batra.

It's complicated. He disagrees with her on so many things that he thinks they'll never find common ground when, boom, he finds this common ground and is wonderstruck. He just about convinces himself that he hates one of her traits when, suddenly, he finds that that's the thing he likes about her the most. There's something about her character – or her Scottish accent – that leaves him confused and wanting more, wanting clarity on something she's said or done.

It's probably against the rules for him to ask a registrar out – let alone his mentee – and he's absolutely not going to do it. He's pretty sure that Drishti hates him, and she has every right to be. He undermined her and insulted her intelligence without ever really getting to know her. If only he'd waited to form an opinion on her until he got to know her.

But she's funny and intelligent and insane and loves dogs even if she also does like cats. She enjoys opera and ridiculously cheesy music that Dylan can't stand the sound of, goes for a run every other morning and prefers winter to summer because, "me and my Scottish blood can't handle any temperature higher than about six degrees."

She's perfect and he at least wants to be friends, if nothing else.

And yet, today, she asked him for coffee. He probably accepted too quickly, but he continued on with some ramble about how important coffee is, and how he's never drunk decaff on purpose but had Drishti heard about the decaff monster who haunted the ED a few months back. She had laughed though, and seemed quite interested in this character, though maybe she was only taking pity on him. It's hard to read Drishti Batra – for someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, Dylan finds her remarkably difficult to read.

Someone opens the door to the staff room, and Dylan looks up and opens his eyes to find Drishti standing there, a slight smile on her face.

"Sorry to disturb you," she says apologetically, and Dylan shakes his head.

"Nothing to disturb," he says honestly. "Everything okay?"

Drishti shrugs. "Well, as okay as we can be when practically the entire population of Holby is in our waiting room. _So_ glad that Mrs Beauchamp's come in though – I thought she was off today?"

"Probably had a tiff with Sam Strachan," Dylan says, coming closer to the truth than he could possibly know. "Not that it matters, of course. I'm glad of the extra pair of hands. Are you taking your break now?"

Grabbing a kids' juice drink out of the fridge, Drishti nods, the tiny straw between her teeth. "Got a ten minute wait for some results so thought I'd grab a snack," she garbles between the straw. "Want one?"

"I'm fine thanks," Dylan replies, standing up and pushing the stool in. "I'd best get back to it. Enjoy the break from the madhouse."

"Dylan." Drishti calls his name, causing him to stop in his tracks. "I just wanted to say…thanks for being such a good mentor. You blow my old one out of the water."

He can't tell if she's just saying this to make him feel better – though how would she know he's in a bad mood? – but the words do more to improve his mood than she could possibly know.

"It's not a problem," he replies, before hesitating. "Look. I'm not good at this, and it's probably a stupid idea but…do you want to take a walk with me some time? And my dog, of course. It's mainly for my dog, she likes meeting new people. So yes, would you like to go for a walk with Dervla? Or just take Dervla on your own, she really does like going with new people—" He's well aware that he's rambling – he's one step away from offering Dervla to Drishti permanently – before Drishti interrupts him.

"Dylan," she repeats, though this time there's a smile on her face. "I'd love to go for a walk with you. And Dervla, of course. I'm excited to meet the most talked about dog in the ED."

* * *

~x~

After a ten minute session of feeling sorry for herself, Connie gathers herself together and walks out of her office, ready to treat the next patient in the waiting room. Instead, she sees someone she's been waiting to speak to for a week: Elle Gardner.

Coming into her office last Friday, Connie had been startled to find Elle's resignation letter, citing a multitude of reasons – though all personal – for her decision to hand in her resignation. Despite attempts to jig the rota around, their shifts have been complete opposites for the past week, and Elle had ignored the various voicemails Connie had left for her consultant.

"Doctor Gardner," Connie calls, her voice carefully neutral. "Do you have a minute?" She stands in the doorway to her office until Elle approaches, an equally neutral expression on her face, at which point she turns slightly to allow the doctor into the office.

After closing the door and crossing the room, Connie breaks the silence. "Apple?" She asks, proffering the bowl of fruit on her desk to Elle.

"Thanks," Elle replies, taking one of the green apples and holding it in her hands. "Connie, if this is about my resignation—"

"It is," Connie admits, setting the bowl of fruit back on the table. "I just don't understand why you want to leave. You're extremely competent, good at your job, and I can see you going far in the next few years. Why throw it all in now?"

Elle shrugs a little, before taking a bite of the apple. "I don't know if I _want_ to go far," Elle replies slowly, looking up at Connie. "I don't know what I want. I'm envious of you, for that – you've always known what you want to be. I knew I wanted to be a doctor, and then a mum, and then a doctor again. But I don't know if now…if this new Elle wants to be a doctor still."

Deciding that now isn't the time to correct Elle on her misconceptions about Connie's perfect life, Connie leans forwards. "We all get like that from time to time, Elle. Wondering whether this is still the right career for us. But it passes."

"For you, maybe. But I've been out of the game for quite a while. And I remember that I got out for eighteen years, and my brain makes me wonder if I want to still be in the game."

"At the end of the day, it is your choice," Connie admits, pursing her lips slightly. First an argument with Sam, and now she can't even persuade Elle to stay. "But I – we – will be sad to see you go, Elle. You're an outstanding doctor. And I'd like to stress the fact that you would walk into practically any job at any hospital, if you choose to return to medicine."

Looking thoughtful, Elle smiles. "Thanks, Connie. I definitely needed to hear that." After taking another bite of her apple, she continues, "I think I'd like to work for a non-profit for a while. You know, sort of like what Alicia and Louise went to do in Calais. Or maybe something different, maybe helping young girls in poverty to get a decent education. Something to help people."

"Well, I think that that sounds like a perfect career choice for you," Connie replies, smiling slightly. Because it does sound exactly like Elle – helping those who can't help themselves. "One of my former colleagues went to do something similar in the Middle East – I could pass you their contact information, see if they have any tips for you?"

"I'd like that very much," Elle says, rising from her seat. "Obviously I'll stay for the rest of my notice. But I really appreciate that you're letting me go without a fight, Connie. Maybe I'll be back at some point – if you'll have me, that is." She laughs a half-laugh, and Connie can hear the restrained tears within her colleague's voice.

"I'd like nothing more," Connie says, and it's the truth. They've moved well beyond the ridiculous tension and competition that had characterised the first year they'd known one another – though, admittedly, that was mostly Connie. "Well, I'll let you get on."

Nodding, Elle walks across to the door, before turning back, a frown on her face. "Aren't you meant to be off today? I could have sworn it was just me and Dylan on the rota…"

"I am, yes," Connie admits. "Couldn't sleep and didn't have much else to do, so thought I'd come in and lend a hand."

"Hmmm," Elle replies suspiciously. "Whatever he's said or done, I'm sure he'll apologise in the form of flowers and food. If he deserves to be forgiven, that is." Her voice is stern, and Connie wonders just how obvious it is that she's had a disagreement with Sam – or whether it's clear that she's considering ending the relationship.

"Well, perhaps," Connie says off-hand, making it clear as always that her personal life is off-limits. "Enjoy the rest of your shift."

* * *

~x~

Six pm rolls around, and Connie's still sat in her office doing paperwork. She doesn't need to do any of this – everything's in order for the Centre of Excellence inspection happening next week – but she wants to distract herself from the question of when is she going home?

It's always been easy to escape an argument, especially with Sam Strachan. Work has always provided the best of distractions. It's just the fact that, after the shift is over, she has to go home and face the music. Which, today, is deciding whether her relationship is a good thing.

There's a knock at the door and Connie calls, "come in," distractedly without bothering to look at who's waiting for her.

"Mum?"

This gets Connie to look up.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing here?" Connie asks, setting her pen down as Grace enters the office and closes the door. Her daughter's expression is confused and a little concerned – a combination which definitely shouldn't be on the twelve-year old's face.

"You can't really say that, _you're_ supposed to be at home." Grace looks tired, and Connie wonders randomly just how little sleep she got at the sleepover last night. "I thought you and dad were doing something today."

Ah. How to tell Grace that they fell out without telling her that they fell out. "I just had a lot of…paperwork to do, sweetheart. In preparation for the inspection."

Grace swings her bag around onto the floor as she lithely jumps across into the visitor chair. "Mum. That's a load of toss—"

" _Language_ , young lady," Connie interrupts, outraged.

"Load of rubbish," Grace hastily amends. "All your important paperwork is on the table at home. You told me that when you told me for the fiftieth time to stay away from the table. And you're tired. You've _clearly_ been here all day."

Connie smiles slightly. "Are you sure you're twelve, sweetheart? You're very observant."

"I have to be with you and dad," Grace replies, smiling. "But really, Mum, are you alright? You don't seem very happy. And dad's in a bad mood too."

The smile slides off of Connie's face. "He didn't shout at you, did he, Gracie?"

Grace rolls her eyes. "Of course he didn't. I just meant that he's like sad. Did you two argue last night?"

Biting her lip slightly, Connie nods. How much can she tell her daughter – who, despite acting more mature than even Connie, is still only twelve? "It's nothing to worry about, Gracie. We just had a…disagreement about some things. It isn't anything major."

"Then why are you at work whilst dad's moping around the house, wearing a really ugly blue shirt?" Grace demands. "Normally you sort things out quickly."

"What do you mean, normally?" Connie queries, furrowing her brow. As far as she was aware, Grace was aware of very few of her arguments with Sam.

" _Mum_ ," Grace replies, fixing Connie with a stare. "I'm twelve, not two. I know when you and dad are arguing. It's so obvious."

"Well, anyway. It's a bit complicated, sweetheart," Connie says, trying to fob Grace off. She doesn't want to tell her that she's considering ending things with Sam – especially as not even a year ago she told her that they could see a future together. "Really complicated, actually. And I need to talk to your dad about some things, and that could take a while. Did you have a good time at Hannah's?"

"You're the most overdramatic person I know," Grace replies, completely ignoring Connie's attempt to change the subject. "Actually, maybe the second most. Dad's probably even more dramatic than you are. And that's saying something."

"Grace, I don't know why you're calling me dramatic, but it isn't helpful." Connie sighs. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

"No, I want you to _listen_ to me, rather than ignoring me and telling me that it's because I'm a child!" Grace cries, leaning forwards in her chair so that she's sitting upright rather than slouching. "You're dramatic and Dad's dramatic and I know that you've had a big argument because you're so bad at hiding your feelings, Mum, it's quite funny. And because you're dramatic, I bet you're thinking, oh I think that it's time that we split up, we're not right for each other." Grace pauses for dramatic effect, and probably to see how close she is to the truth.

Which is very.

"But everyone argues. Hannah's parents argue _all the time_ about stupid things but also really big things, and they don't even try and hide it from Hannah or her brother, which is really mean. Because no matter how mad you get at each other, you and Dad always try and pretend that you're not arguing to me. Which shows me that you actually _don't_ think that things are over because if things are really bad, you don't care who's listening to your arguments. You just argue."

It takes a couple of seconds, but Connie realises that she's crying.

"Sweetheart, you don't need to worry about this," Connie tries to insist, even though she knows that Grace is making more sense than she and Sam ever could. "Come on, let's go home."

" _No_!" Grace repeats, and this time Connie swears she can hear tears in the back of Grace's voice. "I mean it, Mum! You can't just always shut down and immediately expect the worst and see the worst in someone just because you've had an argument. You always do it. Like, always. If you get mad at someone, you don't try and make it work. Neither does Dad. You both just give up. But I don't think that you're going to do that this time. At least I hope you're not. Because you and Dad are the best together. And _everyone_ knows it. Even grandma, but she'd never admit it."

Through the tears, Connie snorts at the mention of Audrey Strachan. Her greatest enemy, she'd probably throw a party if she heard that Sam and Connie had split up.

Moving slowly, Connie rounds her desk, and drops to a crouch in front of Grace. "Sweetheart, I can't promise you anything," she says slowly, reaching up to cup her daughter's face. "Because I don't make all the decisions…I'm not going to steamroller your dad into anything. But I love him and I love you and I love us together, and I'm going to try and fix it. I promise you, sweetheart."

Grace leans over, so that they're hugging in an awkward manner. "I love you, Mum. Let's go home."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, please leave a review!**


	15. Declarations

Chapter Fifteen:

I'm both really happy and really not sure about this chapter, so please let me know what you think of it!

* * *

It takes everything in Connie Beauchamp's power to stop herself from running away from her front door when she arrives home later that evening, her daughter in tow.

"By the way…I know it's a Sunday but because you're working early and so is Dad…can I stay at Hannah's again tonight?" Grace asks suddenly, interrupting Connie's mental focus on finding her keys and unlocking the front door.

"What? Oh, yes, of course sweetheart," Connie mumbles, realising a little late exactly what it is that she's agreed to. "Only if Hannah's parents have made it crystal clear that they're happy for that, though," she adds, trying to make her voice a little stern.

"They suggested it," Grace says proudly. "We're rehearsing for our Speaking and Listening practice, and their back-room thing is _perfect_ for it."

Connie raises an eyebrow as she looks down and meets her daughter's gaze. "Hm. Well, don't get used to it, sweetheart. Rufus needs walking every day remember, and your dad and I aren't always free to do it…"

"I know, I know," Grace says hastily. "Hurry up though, Mum! I've got to pack, and they'll be here in ten minutes. They're picking me up on their way home from Han's dance lessons over in Frexham."

As soon as the front door is open, Grace swings under Connie's arm and runs full-pelt up the stairs towards her room, shouting rushed messages of greeting to both Sam and Rufus.

Taking a deep breath, Connie closes the front door behind her and gently sets her keys down on the table underneath the coat hooks. With greater hesitation than she's used to, she removes her jacket and slips her flat shoes off, all the while feeling her heartrate creep up and her breathing get faster. Angry, violent outbursts, she can deal with. The emotional aftermath – made even worse by the addition of almost twenty-four hours to think about each and every word the two of them said – not so much.

She manages to take so long removing her necklace and tying her hair back in a loose knot that Grace hurtles passed her, huge schoolbag in tow, before Connie has even managed to leave the hallway.

"See you tomorrow night," Grace says rapidly, leaping up to press a kiss to Connie's cheek. "Love you Mum. Bye Dad!" She raises her voice slightly so that Sam can hear her, before tearing the door open and running down the driveway towards the waiting car.

Normally, Connie would go out and clarify with Hannah's parents that, yes, they really don't mind Grace staying over. But tonight, there's different issues pressing on her mind.

Issues which have soon appeared around the living room door into the hallway, just metres away from where Connie's standing.

Frowning slightly, Sam stands, his arms loosely crossed. "Where's Gracie going?"

Connie swallows slowly before replying, "she's staying at Hannah's. They've got an assessment to prepare for, or something." Her voice sounds different to her own ears, and she realises that she's being deliberately neutral to Sam. Which is a tone that, barring the period of time that they worked together whilst in a relationship, hasn't been used since the Darwin days.

"Hm," Sam replies, equally neutral. "Fair enough." He doesn't add anything else, and there's a beat of silence which goes on just long enough to make everything feel awkward.

Connie decides to be the one to break it. "Can we…talk?" She feels stupid saying it, particularly as they're standing in their home. Particularly as they're both over the age of forty, and should know a more mature way to start a conversation about their first major argument in a better way than 'can we talk?'.

Raising an eyebrow slightly, Sam nods, and disappears into the living room. It seems strangely fitting, to discuss the potential demise of their relationship in the place where the argument really hit home. The place where Sam broke her heart into tiny pieces, and didn't make any attempt to pick them up. Or perhaps she's just being as Grace described her – dramatic.

As she walks in, Connie's surprised to see that the room looks tidier than yesterday. The things that they threw in petty anger have been picked up and re-homed – including the knit throw, which almost looks as though Sam has been _sitting_ on it. Surely not, if his hatred for knitwear is as intense as he indicated yesterday. There's also something…different about the room, something that she can't quite put her finger on.

Sam closes the door behind her, and the noise startles Connie a little. It also serves as a stark physical reminder that their lives will be resolved in this room. Be it good news or bad, the next time that the door opens, their relationship will be redefined – permanently.

The parallels with the fateful day which determined the nature of the past year hit Connie as she sinks onto the corner sofa, struck dumb. She couldn't get her words out after the cupboard, and she can't get her words out now.

This time, however, Sam speaks first.

"Look," he begins, looking up at her, and the word causes Connie's stomach to clench. No matter how ready she thinks she is for this conversation…she isn't. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry. Really, _really_ sorry for what I said and how I behaved. But, Con, we've got to sit down and talk this through."

She just about manages to stop herself saying something flippant about how she's already sitting, and makes eye contact with him. His eyes are open windows into his soul, and she can see that he wants to try. Will this be enough?

"Guess you better sit down then." She tries her best to joke, but the half-laugh that comes out afterwards is more of a half-sob. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she does her best to force them down. Best to save the tears for later, when there's probably going to be something to cry about.

Or not. She promised Grace that she'd come into this talk with an open mind – and stop trying to sabotage herself without even attempting to resolve the issues.

"Let's start small," Connie says suddenly, as soon as Sam's sitting down. There's a noticeable gap between their bodies, but it doesn't seem like a gulf. More of a stream, maybe. Or a river. But not an ocean. "I hate Jason Bourne films, and I think that Matt Damon is a really bad actor. But I don't mind watching them when I'm with _you_ , as long as you don't expect me to pay attention to the plot."

Sam fixes her with a look. It isn't malicious or angry or stubborn: instead, it's a cross between amused and perplexed. "Con, are we really starting this existential conversation with a discussion on _Jason Bourne_?"

"Yes," Connie retorts, before taking a deep breath. "Because talking about this sort of thing is difficult for me, and if you want me to finish the conversation without bolting, we build up." She snorts a little, before adding, "plus, we clearly have issues living with each other that we've tried to ignore. We should talk about them first." _Before we decide if we're going to be living together tomorrow anyway_ , she adds in her head.

"I don't hate knit," Sam confesses, his brow furrowing. "I just…when we bought it, it felt like you asked for my opinion as a courtesy, not because you actually valued it. You wanted the throw, so we got the throw."

"And that dress you bought me isn't the worst dress I've ever owned," Connie continues, a small smile quirking the corners of her lips. "But it definitely goes in the bottom five. I…I'm sorry for not just being honest with you about it."

"And I'm sorry for not telling you properly how I feel about this colour." Sam gestures to the shirt he's wearing. "I know you think it suits me, but I just feel ridiculous in it."

"I promise not to buy you another shirt in that colour," Connie vows.

"I promise not to buy you another dress – or any item of clothing – without your express approval," Sam adds, laughing a little. He soon stops, however, as he continues, "and…about what I said. I hurt you. I reverted back to the tactics we used to use…to gain the upper hand using cheap tricks. As I said it, I _knew_ I was hurting you. And yet I carried on talking because, for once, it felt nice to know that I was going to win." He grimaces. "That sounds sick, doesn't it? I know it does, because I felt sick after I said it. I saw how much it hurt, and I didn't do anything to try and make you feel better. I just sat here all night, stewing in my words, wishing that I could go back and change it so that I didn't say any of it."

"It's okay," Connie says, too quickly.

"No," Sam interrupts, making eye contact with Connie once again. "It isn't. And there's nothing that I can do that makes it up to you. But I promise that I'm going to try. And I'm never going to try and score cheap points again by using your weaknesses against you. I can swear that to you, on my life and everything that I hold dear."

It takes a few seconds for Connie to find the strength to speak. "It hurt me more than I've ever been hurt before – by a man, anyway," she says slowly. It's best to be honest. After all, isn't this conversation about honesty? "But what you said is the truth. And I think that that's what hurt…because I knew I had to deal with what you said sooner or later, and I was just hoping to find an excuse to end this so that I didn't have to face up to the facts."

"You can tell me anything you want," Sam replies slowly, reaching a hand out towards Connie. He stops halfway, waiting to see if she reaches out to meet him.

She does. The feeling of his skin against hers is comforting, and it gives her the confidence to continue talking.

"I know that you're right about the fact that Ric and Jac knowing little things about me won't help them destroy me," Connie admits. "I mean, we're friends after all. But it's hard to get out of the mentality of the past – when one wrong move meant that there were fifty people clamouring for your resignation."

"Things aren't like that anymore," Sam confirms. "I mean, maybe within a department. But the Clinical Leads work together. At least at the moment."

"I know," Connie says, sighing. "The thing is, sweetheart, I've spent a _long_ time cultivating a Connie Beauchamp façade that I show the rest of the world. Tough and heartless, nothing gets to me – or bothers me – and I'm unstoppable. I'll stop at nothing. I have no weaknesses. To them, there's nothing that can stop me, so they might as well work with me rather than against me."

There's a moment of silence before Sam replies. "We're being honest, right, Con?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm going to tell you that they know what you're really like, Con," he says, a slight smile on his face, something akin to pride in his eyes. "They know – or at the very least suspect – the real Connie Beauchamp. They know your weaknesses, just as they're aware of your strengths. Just as they know that, no matter what, you'll never stop fighting. No matter how many times you get knocked down, you'll get back up and fight on. _That's_ what makes them agree with you. Not because you're invincible. But because you're human – and you're the strongest person any of them know."

"How long?" Connie asks, through barely moving lips. "I mean, how long do you think that they've known?"

Sam smiles. "I couldn't say, to be honest," he admits. "But there was something in your face the day that Grace was born that hasn't really ever left. Or maybe they never really believed the façade, though I highly doubt that. But it doesn't make you weak, I promise, Con. It makes you stronger than ever."

Hesitating slightly, Connie bites her lip before deliberately scooting over on the sofa so that she's closer to Sam. They're still not quite touching, but it's his move.

He takes it. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Sam pulls her in close to his body, tightly enough so that she can feel the familiar feeling of his heart beat. It's strong and smooth and steady, as comforting as always.

"I don't want them to know everything about my life," Connie continues, moving the conversation on gradually. " _Especially_ anything to do with our sex life. But…I _suppose_ that it doesn't matter if they know some things about me. Just as it doesn't matter if the ED knows some things about you." Tacitly, she's admitting that, maybe, it's okay to mix your work and personal lives a little.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Sam replies, pressing a kiss to the side of her forehead. It's tender and sweet, and probably not appropriate for the end of an argument but she doesn't give a damn. "I want to tell everyone how brilliant you are. But I'm not going to, because they already know. I just like to be able to share the occasional thing that we've done because I love you and Grace, and I'm proud of you." He snorts a little. "We're a right pair, aren't we?"

"What do you mean?" Connie's confused, especially at the sudden change of conversation.

"I mean…sure, we've fought a bit this year. But it's taken a huge argument for us to actually resolve tiny issues with each other," Sam explains, laughing. "Maybe Grace is right. Maybe we _are_ overdramatic."

"Hm, she used that one on you, too?" Connie replies, laughing a little herself. "Let's make a promise: no matter how small, we'll tell each other if something that we do is annoying. Because I don't want this to happen again."

"Agreed," Sam says, his voice firm. "Because not talking to you, not seeing you…it made me feel sick. I missed everything about you. And I mean _everything_. Even the talking in your sleep."

"I don't talk in my sleep!" Connie replies, a little indignant. "But I missed you, too. More than I ever thought I _could_ miss you. I started to go a little crazy, actually, thinking about how awful my future would be if that was how it was going to be."

"I love you," Sam responds simply. "And I can't see a future without you in it."

For the first time in over a day, Connie feels happy, content, complete. The _what if_ questions of how can she run an ED and be in a relationship at the same time have evaporated, as if they've never existed. The entire cycle of despondency that she found herself sinking deeper into when sitting in her office has gone, a mere memory on the long road of time. This is where she belongs, with Sam Strachan in their home. There's always going to be bumps in the road. Next time, she needs to trust her gut – and her gut says, and has always said, that her life is better with Sam Strachan in it.

"We're definitely too dramatic," Connie sighs, looking up and meeting Sam's gaze again. " _Far_ too dramatic. But I wouldn't have you any other way."

Slowly, silently, she stretches her back so that their lips meet, and it's the same as before. No, better. Because now the air's clear. Now, they know that they can – and will – resolve their problems in a better way from this point on.

Plus, make-up sex has always been the best part of an argument for Connie Beauchamp.

"How about you show me some of that drama upstairs?" Sam murmurs, breaking the kiss so that he can press feverish kisses against Connie's neck. "I yield to your dramatism."

As they stumble up the stairs, not breaking skin contact for even a second, Connie's suddenly _extremely_ glad that Grace is spending the night at a sleepover.

* * *

~x~

The moment that Drishti Batra looks up and unexpectedly makes eye contact with Dylan Keogh is the moment that she blushes. Whilst she knew that she would see him today, after last night, she hadn't quite expected it to be this early on in the day. Or, she thinks, quite this close without warning.

"Morning," Dylan says quite cheerily, without breaking eye contact with her.

"Good morning, Doctor Keogh," Noel chimes in, with David Hyde a softly spoken backing track.

The response jolts Drishti, and forces her to look back down at her paperwork, away from Doctor Keogh. Absorbed by Dylan, she had momentarily forgotten that the workstation is as busy as usual – certainly no place for a private conversation. Or a discussion about anything that they don't want half of the ED to know within about three seconds.

"Er, morning," Drishti mutters, deliberately not reinstating their eye contact.

Last night was incredible. She's paying for the lack of sleep now, but she doesn't care. for the first time in four or five years, Drishti feels…connected to someone. There's someone she feels comfortable sharing personal facts with, as well as a meaningful kiss or two. And she thinks that he feels relaxed with her, too. She doesn't think anyone – at work, at the very least – knows the secrets he divulged to her last night. Just as nobody knows what he now knows about her…

"Dervla enjoyed the walk last night," Dylan murmurs, quietly enough so none of their co-workers can hear. She, um, _really_ enjoyed the stretch of walk by the river." Without looking, Drishti can hear something different in Dylan's voice, a hidden layer of meaning intended only for her – telling her that whilst Dervla might have enjoyed this part of the walk, _he_ did too.

"Good," Drishti whispers back, a smile creeping onto her lips almost involuntarily as she looks up and makes eye contact with Dylan once again. As she suspected, there's a mysterious expression on his face: a combination of secret knowing, irony and an element which is Dylan through and through.

The expression takes her back to last night. To muddy treks up a grass-covered hill, and gentle jogs along the hill's brow, Dervla pulling to go faster all the time. To rosy cheeks and breathlessness and _wanting_. To the moment when she looked up to see Dylan just centimetres away from her, when she reached out and pressed her lips to his, tying her hands into his hair.

"Do…do you want to maybe grab some lunch?" Dylan asks, somewhat hesitantly.

Raising an eyebrow, Drishti smirks for the first time that day. "It's eight o'clock in the morning, Dylan. I'm sure even Dervla isn't ready for lunch just quite yet…"

He fixes her with a look. "Later, obviously."

Drishti smiles. "Sounds great. See you later."

* * *

~x~

Within thirty seconds of Connie entering her office, she has a visitor. Dylan Keogh.

She's in a good mood. More than a good mood, to be honest. Being back in this office, the scene of her near meltdown yesterday, reminders her that, with a positive attitude, everything can be resolved. The department will pass the inspection and gain Centre of Excellence status, just as her relationship withstood a particularly heated argument.

Her mind's focused on last night, and Sam Strachan and everything to do with his touch as she sets her jacket on her coatstand. She can still feel the lingering straits of his touch on her arm, her stomach, her face as she moves, can still hear the whispered – and yelled – words of love and attraction from throughout the evening. Sam Strachan is consuming her. And, for the minute, she doesn't care.

"Doctor Keogh," Connie begins distractedly, trying to clear part of her brain to focus on the conversation at hand. It wouldn't do to appear distracted, especially this week. Especially when it's extremely obvious as to the identity of the person most likely to be distracting Connie Beauchamp. "What can I do for you?"

Dylan hesitates for a moment, clearly torn over his decision, but Connie decides that she has enough room in her schedule to be patient with him. Call it the reinstatement of the honeymoon grace period.

"I…I don't think I can be Doctor Batra's mentor any longer." He sounds reluctant, but it still takes Connie a few moments to process what he's said.

"Is there any particular reason?" Connie asks, unable to make her tone firm. At least this problem is coming to the forefront of her mind, a mental challenge to stimulate her work brain and push the part focused on Sam Strachan to the back. For now, at least. "I thought you were getting along rather well? She's certainly come along leaps and bounds since you actually started to mentor her…"

"Yes," Dylan admits, twisting one of his shirt buttons between his fingers. "That's sort of the problem…"

"Get to the point, Dylan," Connie says, turning away from him to look at her computer screen. It's being particularly slow this morning, and she's almost grateful for the distraction in the form of Dylan to stop the technology souring her mood. Not that that's likely to happen, of course. "Why will you no longer mentor Drishti Batra, when such mentoring is mutually beneficial?"

It takes Dylan more than a few seconds to pull himself together, before he declares, "because…I like her. As in, _like_ _like_ her. If that makes sense."

Connie rolls her eyes, but secretly, she's happy for her counterpart. "Are we in secondary school, Dylan?" She neglects to mention the fact that both herself and Sam had used a similar phrase when explaining their relationship to Grace. "You like her in a romantic capacity, I presume?"

"Yes," Dylan says, quickly. "Nothing's happened – well, we went for a walk last night but—"

"I'd rather not know the details," Connie interrupts, holding her hand up, palm facing Dylan.

"Of course…well, I just mean…I think it's better for professionalism, of course, if Drishti has another mentor. I don't want there to be allegations of favouritism, or any questions over her professional conduct. Or mine. I think, even if things don't progress, it would be for the best." Dylan hesitates, and takes a gulp of air before continuing. "I would, of course, be happy to take on another mentee. Or two mentees, if there are two you'd like me to take on. Or additional administrative responsibilities, to make up for the fact you might have to spend more time on the floor, so to speak."

"Dylan, I understand," Connie replies, her tone warm. "I appreciate you coming to me now, rather than six months down the line. I can mentor Drishti, it isn't a problem. Perhaps the next foundation stage doctors we get, you could take under your wing?"

"Absolutely," Dylan vows, without even stopping to think about it. "Thank you, Connie."

"Not a problem," she replies honestly. "I take it that this isn't…common knowledge amongst the team?"

"Correct." Biting his lip, Dylan sets his hand down on his stomach. "I don't even know if there will be anything, in all honesty, Connie. But I think she's incredible."

"Nobody will hear anything from me," Connie vows, smiling. "Though I might have to let Sam know. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic to know that there's a new hospital romance to take the heat off us. I _certainly_ am." Even if she's grown accustomed to the attention her relationship receives, she certainly won't lament the day that it stops being shocking and simply becomes normal.

Dylan smiles, and stands up. "Give my best to him," he says, causing Connie to drop her pen. Did Dylan _really_ just say something complimentary about Sam Strachan? "I'll let Drishti know myself, if that's alright?"

"Er, yes, of course," Connie replies, distracted again – albeit this time for an entirely different reason. "I'll be out in a moment, I'm sure we've got a lot to do in preparation for the inspection this week."

* * *

~x~

After five minutes checking her ridiculously full inbox, Connie decides that it's time to go out onto the department floor, and see how effective her amended policies and procedures are. They're most likely a lot better than she perceived yesterday – just like the work ethic of her staff. Judgements made in a foul, sad mood are clearly not to be trusted, even from Connie Beauchamp.

Just as she drinks the final sip of her coffee, however, her computer pings with a new email alert. Intrigued – as there's no way even Henrik Hanssen could have speed-read the latest essay she's sent him – Connie clicks her computer mouse to open her inbox.

And, immediately, her heart leaps into her stomach.

 _Centre of Excellence Committee_

It takes everything she has to open the email from Helen Tyson, the lead inspector of Emergency Departments, and not run screaming from the office. As far as she was aware, there shouldn't be any further communication from the committee until the results are in. Which, as far as Connie is aware, should be late this week or early next.

There shouldn't be this email in her inbox.

And yet there is.

It takes a few seconds for Connie's eyes to focus enough to read the email, and even then, she finds herself skipping words, keen to get to the crux of the body of text. She can hear her heartbeat in her chest, hear every single _thrum-thrum_ – until it stops.

And as the tears begin to form, she realises that the only person she wants to talk to is Sam Strachan.

Rapidly, Connie stands up and strides out of her office, slamming the door closed behind her on the way to the lift. To Darwin. To Sam. She taps her feet incessantly on the journey up to the first floor, before she gets out, and runs towards the stairs, deciding that she'll get to the eighth floor faster under her own steam. Every step takes her closer to Sam, even if she has to wipe the tears from her eyes on more than one occasion.

Finally, she reaches Darwin ward, and realises that she has no idea where he is. Maybe he's in theatre. Maybe he's on a ward round. Maybe he's not here, and she's going to have to tell someone else about the Centre of Excellence bid before Sam. But surely not. If there's any form of higher power, they'll let her see Sam.

"Sweetheart? What are you doing up here?" Connie looks up to hear Sam's voice ahead of her, a little further down the main corridor of the ward. She's found him, thankfully, even if it is in the middle of Darwin. "Are you alright?"

She realises that she must look like a complete state, tear stains visible on her cheeks, and probably some sort of manic expression on her face. Does she care? Not at this particular moment in time.

Smiling, Connie closes the gap between her and Sam, not saying a word. Part of her hates the increasingly concerned – and worried – expression on Sam's face, but she's too consumed by this one emotion to let that interrupt her mood.

"We did it," she says, barely able to get the words out. "We've got Centre of Excellence status, Sam. _We_ did it!"

Sam doesn't say anything as he closes the final step between them; instead he encapsulates her in his arms, pulling her close to his body. She's not sure if she's laughing or crying as she breathes onto his shoulder, absorbing as much of his scent as possible, but she knows that she's never been more relieved.

" _You_ did it," Sam murmurs into her ear, rocking from side to side as her grip on him grows tighter. "You're the only reason for it, Con. You're incredible."

Breaking away from him after a few more seconds, Connie smiles wider than she thought possible up at Sam. Not that it feels like she's looking up, of course; she's on cloud nine, and not entirely sure if she'll ever be coming down.

"I love you," she murmurs, forgetting about the audience most likely forming around them as she stares deep into Sam's eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Before Sam can say anything or anyone else can interrupt, Connie's body reacts almost instinctively. She takes a step forwards and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her chest against his, her legs against his, her lips against his. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the gasps and cheers, and yet the only thing she can focus on is the sound of their hearts beating as one, the feeling of his skin against hers, unspoken words of relief and pride and togetherness pouring out of each of them.

Sometime later, Connie comes to her senses and, although reluctantly, breaks their kiss, though she can't quite bring herself to release Sam entirely. She's probably going to regret such a public display of affection at some point – but she truly cannot bring herself to care.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice begins. " _What_ a performance, guys! I think you've just caused Mrs Thomas's heartrate to go back to normal – cheers for that." Jac Naylor, as sarcastic as always, takes a step closer to Connie and Sam, a deliciously wicked grin on her face.

"Glad I could be of assistance," Connie replies, as close to dryly as she can manage. Which isn't very close.

"You know, I'm almost offended," Jac continues, almost as if she hasn't heard Connie's response. Which, knowing Jac, she might not have done. "I mean, after _we_ got our rating, you didn't kiss _me_ like that. Or even hug me. _Or_ tell me you love me. I mean, I know you do. But you didn't say it." Faux-pouting for a moment, Jac laughs.

"What can I say," Sam begins, a smile audible in his voice. "I guess I must have just been closer."

"You were just a little too far away," Connie continues, joking in public for the first time that she can remember. "Maybe next time, Jac."

"I'll hold you to that," Jac replies, pointing the file in her hands at Connie. "Congratulations though. Not that anyone's surprised, of course. I mean, when has _Connie Beauchamp_ failed at anything?"

More times than Connie's willing to admit, but it isn't the time to put a downward spin on things. So, instead, Connie simply nods and smiles, and begins to walk back towards the lift, Sam's arm around her waist as they go. She can feel everyone's stares on them but, for once, she doesn't care. Let them stare.

"So…" Sam begins, as soon as the lift doors are closed, and they're alone. "I think you might have just broken your own rule on talking about _us_ at work. For at least the few words that you used, anyway…"

"Shut up," Connie murmurs, smiling as she pulls him in close for another kiss. This time, however, it's definitely not suitable for an audience.

.

"Did I say how much I love you?" Sam murmurs into Connie's ear as she sits across his legs in her office. The blinds are down, the door locked, and their chair wheeled just far enough away that no intrigued (or nosy) passers-by can see through the glass pane in the door.

"You can say it again," Connie replies, smiling as he presses a kiss to her neck.

"I love you more than I've ever loved anything in the world," he continues, punctuating every word with a kiss. "And I'm also more proud of you than anyone could ever be. I mean, you've aced an inspection that you didn't even know was happening!"

"True," Connie agrees, looking away from Sam as she leans across to press her keyboard to reveal the confirmation email once again. Her top ruffles up, but she's too engrossed in reading to pull it down again.

 _Dear Mrs Beauchamp,_

 _I am writing to you with regards to the Centre of Excellence application that you submitted three months ago._

 _Although this is not our usual policy, the CoE Committee are well aware of your impressive leadership qualities, as well as your appreciation of a challenge posed subtly to yourself. It is for these reasons – as well as the requirement for a Centre of Excellence Emergency Department to perform_ all _of the time – that we decided it would be appropriate to do a surprise inspection._

 _Across the weekend just gone, Saturday 11_ _th_ _and Sunday 12_ _th_ _August, a series of inspectors disguised as patients and patients' relatives have made their way into your Emergency Department. They have assessed your staff, your procedures, and the robustness of the framework of the Holby City Hospital Emergency Department. They have also assessed the quality of the leadership of the department, notably Mrs Connie Beauchamp, and the camaraderie of the team as a whole._

 _It is with great joy that I can confirm that, effective immediately, the Holby City Hospital Emergency Department has been awarded Centre of Excellence status. Though there is always work to be done to achieve perfection, this ED epitomises the quality of patient care expected across the NHS. It is well-run, well-organised, and well-staffed. The team appear to thoroughly relish their roles, and work solidly together to provide the highest quality patient care._

 _A hard copy of this letter, as well as the complete inspection report, will be with you in due course. In the meantime, please congratulate yourself – and your team – on such a high-quality outcome._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Helen Tyson_

 _Chief Inspector_

"Reading what's essentially a love letter to Connie Beauchamp again?" Sam teases, as he leans forwards to press another kiss to Connie's neck. "Read it aloud. I particularly like the bit where she tells you to congratulate yourself – and your team. I mean, _I'm_ your team, aren't I?"

"You're the chief of my fanclub," Connie corrects him, a glimmer in her eyes. "And a part time member of my team."

"Full time," Sam counters, tracing his fingers along the exposed skin of Connie's stomach.

"Occasionally full time," Connie concedes, shivering as his fingers brush the top of her trousers. "I just…I can't believe it. We've done it."

" _You've_ done it," Sam corrects her again. "Take credit for this, Con. You – and you alone – did this." He laughs a little. "You're also going to be the one they test their next inspection type on, you do realise. I wonder what they'll throw at you next."

Groaning a little, Connie turns back around to face Sam. "Let's skip talk of another inspection," she whispers, running her fingers through his hair. "Let's just be us."

"I can do that."

* * *

~x~

It's a little after two in the afternoon that Drishti and Dylan take their sandwiches out into the Holby City Hospital gardens, surreptitiously meeting in a shaded corner. They're keen to keep this a secret for as long as possible, and so find themselves unwittingly copying the exact moves Connie and Sam made over a year ago.

"So there's something I need to talk to you about," Dylan begins shortly after they've disposed of the rubbish from their meals. It feels the most natural time to broach the subject, now that their conversation on the benefits of dogs as medical assistants has come to an end. "It's about work."

"Go on then," Drishti says, a teasing grin on her face. "Let me guess, I've been a really atrocious doctor, and I need tutoring?" She's flirting, and Dylan can feel the heat rushing to his face. It's been so long since he dated someone, he'd almost forgotten how to flirt.

"Not quite," he continues, clearing his throat. "I spoke to Mrs Beauchamp this morning…and, effective immediately, I'm no longer your mentor."

"What?" Drishti stops dead still, and it takes Dylan a good few paces before he realises. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeats, an almost incredulous look on his face. "Because it isn't appropriate, Drishti!"

"Dri," she corrects him automatically. She told him that he could call her that yesterday, a name that only he can call her. "Why isn't it appropriate?"

He can't quite tell if she's joking or not. "Because…we're…I don't know what…and I don't know if there ever _will_ be anything, or if you want anything I mean, but…well…what I mean is…I can't be your mentor and your lover, Drish—Dri. It isn't professional, and it wouldn't look good for either of us."

"Ah," Drishti replies, biting her lip. Her accent causes her to elongate the word, so that it's almost as if she's said a full sentence. "I understand."

"It isn't as if we're not going to work together," Dylan continues, less brisk and more urgent. "And you'll have an even better mentor. Mrs Beauchamp has agreed to take you under her wing…I don't want to do anything to damage your career, Dri. And so that's why I've done this."

"Well, you have good ideas without Dervla _sometimes_ ," Drishti jokes, a smile on her face as she turns to face Dylan. "Though you're wrong about Mrs B. There's _no way_ she can be as good a mentor as you are…"

They spend the rest of their break amongst the bushes, and it takes the next two hours for Drishti find all of the pieces of wood hidden amongst her hair.

* * *

~x~

After an extended lunch break, a hasty video conversation with Grace – who, surprisingly, doesn't seem particularly embarrassed to be communicating with her parents on her lunch – and a brief announcement to the team about the Centre of Excellence inspection result, Connie decides that it's time to send Sam back up to Darwin. The entire hospital's probably talking about them even more than usual due to her stunt, and she dreads to think what sort of bets her team have about what's going on in this shuttered, locked office.

It's with a heavy heart that she says goodbye to Sam, even though they've arranged to meet again in less than two hours, though she doesn't think that she can be unhappy. Especially not today, not now she's achieved the latest goal she's worked towards.

Connie decides that, now she has some time, it's the perfect opportunity to start binning the unnecessary copies of files she had printed specifically for the Centre of Excellence inspection team. She doubts that they snuck into her office to read them, so it was probably a waste of time printing and binding them – just as Sam had said. Though she doesn't need to tell _him_ that of course.

As she works, she hums, and she's humming still as someone bursts through the door unannounced.

"Ah, Henrik," Connie says with a smile as she turns around to greet her visitor. "Nice of you to finally pop down. Unless, of course, you've also been dealing with surprise, unannounced inspections of your own, in which case I hope things have gone well for you." There's none of the usual edge to her tone that usually appears when she's talking with Henrik Hanssen; instead, she's happy to see him.

"Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately for me – all of the action appears to occur down in the Emergency Department," Henrik replies, a touch of humour to his voice as he takes a seat opposite Connie. "I must offer the most wholehearted of congratulations, Connie. I'm fairly certain nobody else could handle it the way that you do."

It's a compliment of the highest order from Henrik Hanssen, and Connie has no intentions of doing anything but accepting it most graciously.

"I value that greatly, Henrik," she says honestly, twiddling the ends of her hair with her right hand. "There's still work to be done, of course."

"Of course," Henrik agrees. "But work for someone else, surely? After all, you've achieved so much…"

Connie fixes him with a stern look as she replies. "Work for _me_ , Henrik. You don't expect me to just give up and hand it over to someone else for the easy part, do you?"

Sighing a little, Henrik smiles. "Would I expect anything of the sort, Mrs Beauchamp? Just remember, whenever you say you want a new challenge, I can offer you it…"

"I'll bear that in mind," Connie promises.

"Now, as a celebration, perhaps we could arrange a little evening soirée? For all the Clinical Leads – and their spouses, of course. Couldn't leave Mr Griffin unable to see for himself the _marvellous_ display I hear that Darwin experienced earlier." Henrik's tone is teasing, but also surprisingly serious.

But, for once, Connie can turn him down. "Whilst that sounds excellent, I'm afraid I've already got plans," she replies. "My team achieved this award as well, remember."

* * *

~x~

Shortly after six pm, there's a knock at the door to Connie's office, though the visitors enter without waiting for a signal.

"Hello, sweetheart," Connie says with a smile as Grace almost runs in. "Good day at school?"

"Mum!" Grace calls, rounding the desk and wrapping her arms around Connie. "I'm so proud of you, you did _so good_." She yawns into Connie's chest, but tries to disguise it as a yawn.

"And I'm impressed that _you_ managed to get me to agree to a sleepover on a school night." Connie laughs, looking over the top of Grace's head towards Sam. "But thank you, sweetheart. I'm proud of us all."

"Dad says we're doing something crazy and spontaneous and _definitely_ not you tonight," Grace continues, laughing a little as she disentangles herself from Connie. "Is that true?"

Still looking at Sam, Connie fixes him with a slightly amused look. "Well I'd hardly call going to the _pub_ spontaneous, Gracie. Maybe a little different yes. But you have to promise me something before we go."

"What?" Grace sounds suspicious. "If it's about me eating cabbage, please don't. I won't eat it. You _know_ I won't."

Connie laughs and, having shut down her computer, stands up and begins to get ready to leave. "We'll save that conversation for another day," she says. "No, you have to promise that you won't prank anyone – let alone David – again. I don't think they'll forgive me if you do."

" _Fineeee_ ," Grace says, sighing. "I mean, if people are interesting, maybe I won't."

"Grace," Sam says, his voice mock-stern. "What do you say?"

"I promise I won't _deliberately_ prank anyone," Grace relents, rolling her eyes. "Now can we go? I'm starving. I hope this pub sells food."

As they walk out of the office, Grace walks on ahead, still talking to herself about the importance of a good selection of pizza toppings for anywhere to call itself a good eating place, whilst Connie and Sam walk slowly together.

"Good afternoon?" Connie asks, pulling Sam's arm tighter around her waist.

"Alright," Sam replies, looking almost amused. "Wishing I hadn't ever wanted to discuss my personal life at work, but other than that, great."

"Well, I'm not sure how long it'll take, but I _can_ tell you that we're not the only hospital romance," Connie says conspiratorially, opening the ED door with her right hand.

" _Mrs Beauchamp_ , I thought you didn't listen to the rumour mill?" Sam teases. "I thought it contained nothing but half-truths and wildly untrue accusations?"

"Dylan told me himself," Connie replies, almost proudly. "Him and the new registrar. Well, not really new – she's been here almost as long as you managed to hold out in the role – but Drishti all the same."

"There really is something about consultants dating registrars in this hospital, isn't there?" Sam jokes. "All the same, I hope it works out for them. I mean, if Dylan needs any advice, he knows where I am…"

"Don't push it," Connie laughs, tapping Sam's chest lightly with her free hand. "I mean, he told me to give you his best earlier. We don't want to go backwards to him only sending his regards. Or, worse than that, not being on his Christmas card list…"

"You never cease to amaze me, Constance Beauchamp," Sam murmurs, his voice full of awe. "Truly outstanding work. Forget the Centre of Excellence malarkey. You getting _Dylan Keogh_ to agree to give me his best is deserving of a Nobel Peace Prize."

"MUM!" Grace calls from the door to the Hope and Anchor. "HURRY UP! I'm starving."

"I think we've been summoned," Connie laughs, "you're on vegetable duty tonight?"

"Whatever the Give Me My Best Nobel Peace Prize Winner demands…"

.

Three hours, four drinks, and a surprising number of photos later, the Beauchamp-Strachans exit the Hope and Anchor, with demands and pleads for them to stay just a bit longer ringing in their ears.

"That was more fun than I thought it'd be," Connie admits as they climb into a waiting taxi, Grace playing on her phone in the front seat. "I didn't realise that they were as interesting as they are…"

"Though that could also just be because you put two hundred quid behind the bar," Sam quips, receiving a hard smack on the arm in response. "Hey! That hurt."

"They didn't just talk to me because of the money," Connie counters, a slight flush to her cheeks. Alcohol always makes her feel warm, and tonight is no different. "I'm glad you suggested it. Maybe you _are_ on my team, after all…"

"That's the only place I want to be," Sam promises. "Even if being on your team hasn't quite managed to get me tickets to a Matt Damon premiere yet…"

"There's always the next inspection for that to happen."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

We're into the home stretch now, so there's just a few more chapters to go before this story is wrapped up. As always, I'm really interested in your thoughts!


	16. Offers

Chapter Sixteen:

Apologies for the delay in updating!

* * *

It's six pm on a Tuesday evening, and Connie Beauchamp and Sam Strachan are in the kitchen preparing dinner. As part of her effort to make cooking more of a family thing, she's actively trying to lend a hand in the kitchen, so that Sam doesn't feel as if he's doing all of the domestic work. Well, the domestic work they do. She's had a biweekly cleaner for as long as she can remember, and Grace deals with the dishes every night, in exchange for an extremely healthy weekly allowance.

"So, I experienced my department's little _betting syndicate_ first hand today," Connie comments, skilfully chopping carrots into equal sized pieces as she talks.

Sam shoots her a slyly playful smile. "Sweetheart, you've been the subject of this syndicate's betting on numerous occasions. You _are_ aware of this, are you not?"

Rolling her eyes, Connie purses her lips. "Yes, well, I've heard rumours. And, of course, there was the time before we booked Greece when our holiday options were of particular interest to a subset of staff. But I mean, I received my first offer to place a bet!" She sounds happier than she probably should, and Sam makes a mental note to never mention the dozens of bets that Max Walker has had on Connie over the past eighteen months. Plus who knows just how many occurred in the time before Sam had returned to Holby.

"I'm sure that you betted the right answer, of course," Sam drawls, after a few seconds' pause. "Brightest woman in the universe, you are, Con."

This time, the look Connie shoots Sam is embarrassed, though she's more pleased than she's willing to admit. "Well, I mean I didn't _actually_ bet, of course. It wouldn't be fair to…" she trails off deliberately, waiting for Sam to ask her a question.

"Mrs Beauchamp, is there something that you know that you're not sharing?" Sam's intrigued, probably more than he ought to be. Whilst hospital gossip was something he was into in his first stint at Holby – as well as being one of the key figures gossiped _about_ – he's lost a lot of interest in it nowadays. He knows just how apathetic Connie is towards it, and he doesn't want to hurt her by getting involved. Plus, everyone just seems so immature.

"Oh, well, nothing new for _you_ ," Connie replies, smiling slightly. "It's just about the lovely Doctor Batra. It's a bit mean, really, betting on her love life. I mean, I'd be mortified if it was me!"

The look Sam shoots Connie is puzzled. "Sweetheart, you _do_ remember that your department _did_ run a bet on who you were most likely to date? I definitely put Henrik Hanssen's name into the mix…"

"That makes so much sense!" Connie exclaims, setting her paring knife down as she turns to face Sam, her expression shocked. "Noel, of course, has no tact, bless his soul…and he just kept asking me about how I got on with Henrik. For weeks. I got a little worried, actually." She's not annoyed, simply amused, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief – both for how well she takes it, and for the fact that she's dropped her knife.

"Bless Noel," Sam agrees, stirring the contents of the pot on the stove. "Anyway, what does your delightful department think is happening in Drishti's love life?"

Leaning across the counter, her domestic chores completed, Connie rests her chin in her hands. "Well, I think I'm on the list, as always." She sighs a little, perpetually a little irritated at her department's strange fascination with her love life, regardless of her relationship status. "And David Hide. A few registrars upstairs were mentioned, and even the barman in the Hope and Anchor."

"But no Dylan?"

"No Dylan," Connie confirms. "Mm, that smells good. But yes, they haven't quite figured it out yet. Which surprises me, to be honest."

"How so?" Sam smiles, and lifts the wooden spoon out of the pot and holds his hand under it, walking across to Connie. "Open up, you're clearly angling for some."

Connie grins, the expression lighting up her entire face, and she complies to Sam's request, licking the bottom of the spoon. "Delicious. Might make a chef of you yet, sweetheart."

"Funny you say that," Sam continues casually, dropping a light kiss on the tip of Connie's nose before turning back to the cooker. "I got a phone call from Ellie Horner today. You know, from Birmingham General Hospital."

"Yeah, I remember her," Connie replies distractedly, her attention drawn by one of the papers lying on top of the breakfast bar. Unsurprisingly, the government are blaming hospitals for poor service, as usual. Forget about budget freezes, the exchange rates plummeting, and the increasing specialist treatments, of course. "What did she want?" The last time she spoke to Ellie Horner, the latter was looking for advice on becoming the next Director of Surgery at her Birmingham hospital. A fellow cardiothoracic consultant, there had been a brief time when both Connie and Ellie went up against one another for the same jobs – and, somehow, a strange friendship had blossomed.

"Well, apparently she's the CEO now – don't ask me when, I didn't ask – and her head of cardiothoracics is leaving." Sam pauses conspiratorially, and Connie's attention is drawn to his behind. "And she's asked if I want the job."

Connie drops the paper, her attention finally grabbed. "I…what?" Even though she counts to five slowly, her mind is racing, consumed with the questions she wants the answers to. Like, is it likely that Sam will take this job? What will happen? Will they relocate to Birmingham? Will he commute?

Will they survive?

She swallows once, and then twice, before standing up straight and pushing any and every negative thought out of her mind. She doesn't need to think like that. They're stronger than ever. Nothing can break them apart.

"I know!" Sam sounds excited, far too excited for her to try and dampen his parade. "I mean, I know it's a hundred miles away, but it's something to definitely consider. Though, of course, we don't know if Jerry is actually going to retire or not, but he's almost sixty nine now, so it's looking pretty likely."

"Hmm," Connie says quietly, contemplatively. But then she forces herself to push all of the negative thoughts out of her head, smiling as she rounds the breakfast bar so that she's stood mere centimetres away from Sam. "Well, I'm very proud of you, sweetheart. You definitely deserve it." As she says the words, she repeats them inside her head over and over.

Because, at the end of the day, she _is_ proud of Sam. It would be hard not to – she loves him more than she's loved anyone before, and if he's happy, she's happy. He's achieved a great deal more than she had spitefully predicted, back when he had left her tutelage and moved to America. Sam Strachan is certainly a surgeon of her creation, and it would be ludicrous for people to not recognise his near-incomparable talent and offer him the top positions. But, selfishly, Connie doesn't want him to go. She wants to keep the status quo here, in Holby, at least for now. Until they're settled more fully, until there's no question of silly arguments breaking them up. She wants to keep him close, so that nothing can break them apart.

"Thank you, Con," Sam murmurs, pulling her in for a hug. He grips her tightly, and she can feel in his arms just _how_ happy he is. After all, he's headed up his own department before – it's not as if a promotion to Clinical Lead is something completely unexpected. "I love you."

"I love you too," Connie replies, realising as she speaks that she's crying a little. Tears of joy or sadness, she's not quite sure.

Breaking the hug, Connie pulls back just far enough so that she can lift her lips to Sam's. In that moment, she realises that they're happy tears – because no matter what, they love each other, and Sam deserves the chance to progress.

In the end, dinner gets forgotten about until Grace plods downstairs ten minutes later, and shouts an aghast, "MUM!" causing Connie and Sam to break apart, feeling more like teenagers than ever before.

* * *

~x~

As she walks the corridors of the Emergency Department the following day, Connie decides that it's best to be positive. At the end of the day, she's achieved most of what she wanted to in the Holby ED. If worst comes to worst, they all relocated to Birmingham and she finds work in one of the many nearby hospitals: it's probably time for her to return to cardiothoracics, anyway. And best case scenario is that Sam gets the job, but remains based in Holby. It'd be one hell of a commute, but they could work something out, maybe so he comes home at weekends or something.

Whatever happens, Connie knows that they can work their way through it. So, no matter how panicked she gets, she vows to herself to remain calm and reasonable about the situation. They've dealt with things much worse than this. This is practically a minor inconvenience in comparison to Sam getting cancer or the incalculable number of times their daughter has ended up in the hospital.

"Mrs Beauchamp?" Elle Gardner's voice interrupts Connie's reverie, and she looks up to see her fellow consultant just metres away. "I've got a stack of paperwork for you to sign off. Do you mind if I just leave it in your office?"

Connie nods, appreciating Elle's tact in ignoring the fact that Connie was almost away with the fairies, rather than concentrating on her ward round. "Yes, that's fine. I'll be in shortly, just got to finish walking the ward."

"Cheers," Elle replies, a smile on her face. She seems happier than normal – probably something to do with the fact that she only has another couple of shifts left before she moves on to bigger and better things. "Entry code still the same?"

"Indeed," is all Connie says in response, a half-smile forming on her lips as she wonders just _how_ many members of her department know that her office door code is just Grace's birthday. Perhaps she should think about changing it… "See you shortly, Doctor Gardner."

As she continues to walk around the ED, Connie pushes all thoughts of Sam Strachan and cardiothoracic surgery from her mind, forcing herself to critically assess the department. It isn't brilliant, she herself will admit that, but she'd have to grade it very good. Every patient receives high-quality, yet relatively quick treatment from physicians who actually want to be there. Her team is a strong one, and Connie can see high futures for every single member of it, even Elle should she choose to return to hospital medicine in the future. Even when she isn't at work, she can tell that her ethos and emphasis on patient care is adhered to – her team believe in it just as much as she does.

She's as proud of the team – and the department as a whole – as she is of Sam, which is certainly saying something. They can achieve without her needing to breathe down their necks; in fact, her role is almost entirely reduced to just being a consultant, until she can find another niche area for her to crack. Of course, a department is never perfect.

But Connie Beauchamp's ED is pretty damn close.

* * *

~x~

It's Lily's first day off in almost two weeks, and she _had_ planned to revel in this by lying in bed until noon. An activity which would be followed by a cooked breakfast, a hasty tidying of her extremely messy flat, and an extended gym session. Whilst she's managed to make it to a couple of kickboxing classes over the past couple of weeks, she's spent half of her spare time cramming in preparation for the consultant interviews occurring next week.

She hadn't initially intended to go for Elle's job. In fact, it had been Mrs Beauchamp who had pressed her to go for it during her annual performance review last week. The older woman had expressed a sincere belief in Lily's abilities, saying that she could see just how far Lily had come in the previous fourteen months, since the last aborted attempt at interviewing consultants. The fact that she had passed her consultancy exams in the interim hadn't helped, either.

The other person to have persuaded her was Iain. Whilst they're still in unclear waters – the aim of the game appears to be enjoying one another's company, rather than putting labels on whether they're even considering dating as a possibility for the future – the moment that she had even hinted to Iain about the fact that there's soon to be a vacancy in the ED, he had pressed her to go for it.

"Lil, you've already said that you see your future in Emergency Medicine," Iain had implored her as they walked to work one morning. "And you've passed your exams. The system is telling you that you're ready to progress – and so is Mrs B. I think you should do it."

However, Lily's plans for a lazy – albeit exercise-filled – day have been destroyed by the very man who insisted she go for a promotion: Iain Dean. As soon as he had discovered that their rotas are aligned for the first time in a fortnight, he had asked if she wanted to go for lunch and drinks.

And, unsurprisingly, Lily had been unable to refuse.

As she drags herself out of bed at a little after ten in the morning, Lily groans. The entire act of making herself look presentable seems like too high a mountain for her to climb at such an unreasonably early time in the morning. Well, an unreasonable time for her to be up on a _day off_.

 _Can I turn up to lunch in a tracksuit?_ Lily texts Iain, a smile on her lips as she jumps back onto her bed. There's no point in starting to get ready if there's even a chance that she can go back to sleep for a powernap.

Iain texts back almost immediately.

 _If you want to, go for it, you'll look gr8 either way_ x

Lily smiles, feeling her face heat up as she reads the message.

 _What are you wearing?_

Once again, he replies quickly.

 _None of your business, Doc. You'll like it though…_

Despite the fact that Iain's giving away next to no information, Lily immediately realises that Iain's dressing up. Probably not as smart as he would for a wedding, but smart. She's lost count of the number of times that she's hinted to him about how he'd look great in a pair of trousers and a shirt, or even with tighter-fitted jeans and a smart top – especially in an emerald green or midnight blue colour. She's not that up on her fashion sense, but she's convinced that those colours would set his complexion off wonderfully.

And maybe her sense isn't that far off, if he's dressing up so smartly…

 _Okay, maybe I'll at least stretch to a proper outfit_ , Lily replies, unable to stop herself smiling as she realises that she's subconsciously started flirting through texts. It's just impossible to stop smiling whenever she thinks of Iain Dean at the moment. _See you soon_ :). She ends her text with a smiley face, not entirely sure that she feels comfortable with it. Using a kiss doesn't feel natural, but she's certain they're more than just smiley face people.

Maybe they'll figure it out when they work out what they are a bit more. Or maybe they won't. Maybe even Mrs Beauchamp still has this issue – and she has what seems to be a perfect relationship. Actually, probably not. The Clinical Lead is a machine – in a good way.

Sighing as she flops back onto her bed, Lily covers her face in her hands. She's more excited than ever to see Iain, and the effort of getting ready just seems a little much to bear. But the faster she gets ready, she reasons, the faster she'll see him again.

.

Even though it hurts a little inside, Lily arrives at the restaurant ten minutes late, hesitating as she walks in. Her hairdryer had fused and, although she's perfectly competent at changing a fuse, it took her far too long to find a replacement. Even though she's already messaged Iain to let him know she'll be late, she still feels awkward. If there's one thing that she's known for, it's punctuality.

Well, punctuality and a killer front kick.

"Hey," Iain says with a cheeky smile as Lily approaches the table. "Thought you were standing me up then – you're normally early!"

Lily smiles a little as she takes a seat opposite him. He's chosen a fancy restaurant, one of her favourites, and it takes everything in her to not be distracted by the décor as she replies.

"My hairdryer fused," she explains, shrugging a shoulder out of her coat. Even though it's August, it's a little nippy outside. Not that that's particularly surprising in the centre of England. "I knew I had some fuses somewhere, but couldn't remember where I'd put them. It was only when I started moving my old F2 textbooks that I remembered I'd used them as a bookmark."

Iain looks almost amazed. "You know how to change a fuse?" he repeats, dumbstruck.

It takes everything Lily has not to roll her eyes. "Of course," she replies matter-of-factly, picking up the menu on the table in front of her. Not that she really has to peruse it; she'll order what she always does. "Just like I can change a tyre or a lightbulb, and fix a radiator. I'm not just academically smart, Iain." She smiles as she talks, to disguise any potential sharpness to her tone, but Iain only smiles in response.

"Well, I'm glad that you're such an all-rounder," he says, picking up his menu too. "I guess that means that you won't need me to get rid of any spiders that appear…?"

Shuddering, Lily shakes her head. "I never said that I could deal with _spiders_ ," she comments, laughing a little. "You're the designated spider man."

"Spiderman? Nobody's ever called a paramedic Spiderman before," Iain teases, and Lily can feel her cheeks starting to blush. "I mean, I _know_ we're the superheroes, but it's nice to finally get some credit, you know? Though I'd say I'm more of a Captain America, don't you think? Just a normal, northern lad who—"

"Who doesn't know when to stop talking," Lily interrupts, laughing a little. "I'd say…more Ant Man? Would you not agree?"

There's an expression of mock outrage on Iain's face as he sets down his menu in anguish. "Lily Chao, I think that's the most hurtful thing you've ever said to me," he comments, sounding particularly hurt. "It's as if your words have gone straight to the heart. My childhood dreams have been ruined."

"Sorry," Lily says, still laughing a little. As she stops, her tone becomes more serious. "Guess it's time to find you some new childhood dreams…"

* * *

~x~

Engrossed in paperwork, Connie is startled to hear an almighty thud on her door. It's less of a knock and more of an attempt to kick the door in – at least, that's what it sounds like.

Looking up, Connie's startled to see Jacob Masters standing in the doorway. Whilst they've been semi-cordial since the last time that they worked together in resus, she can't say that things have been particularly warm between them. Well, if she's being honest, things haven't been warm between them since he cheated on her, and then dumped her to soothe his own conscience – using her ill daughter as an excuse. That's also ignoring the fact that she had relatively swiftly gotten back together with her ex – someone she had previously worn that she would never get back with.

So to say that she's surprised to see Jacob standing at her door would be an understatement.

"Staff Nurse Masters," Connie greets him as the door opens, her expression carefully neutral. "How can I be of assistance?"

Without speaking, Jacob closes the door, giving her absolutely no indication as to what he wants to speak to her about. There's something to do with his demeanour – and the fact that he's loitering near the door, rather than entering the room – that makes her instinctively think that it's a personal topic of conversation he wants to discuss. She can't remember the last time that she saw him looking as unconfident as he does now.

"I know it's not my place to say anything," Jacob begins, and Connie immediately tenses. If there's one thing that she wants less than this particularly private conversation, it's Jacob's opinion on her relationship with Sam Strachan.

"Then don't," Connie snaps, her previously neutral tone rapidly evaporating. "I don't have time for your opinions on anything to do with my life, Jacob. Truly, I don't."

"I don't want to hurt you," Jacob says slowly. "I just wanted to say a few things…and ask you something."

Setting her jaw, Connie raises her eyebrows. "And who says that I want to hear what you have to say?"

"The fact that you've not shouted at me to get out yet," Jacob shoots back, pushing his luck. And before Connie can say anything else, he continues, "look, I was a jerk. I know that. And I'm sorry. Really. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"Treated like what?" Connie interrupts, her tone harsh. "When you slept with someone else, or when you used my daughter's illness as an excuse to end what had become a truly pointless relationship?"

She can tell from the shocked expression on Jacob's face that he hadn't expected her to categorically know about the cheating. Not that she's bothered, of course. A year ago, it still hurt enough for her to tell Sam about it. But now, now she laughs at the memory – because if it hadn't happened, she wouldn't have been able to end up in a cupboard wit Sam.

"You know?"

Connie laughs. "Do I know? Of course I do, Jacob! I'm not sure what you expect me to be, but a lovesick puppy who can't figure things out is _not_ one of them. Not that it matters now, of course." Tacit in her words is the implication that, regardless of what Jacob says, she doesn't care. She doesn't need him. Or even want him.

"Ah, right, erm, well, I just…I'm sorry, Con. Really, I am."

" _Mrs Beauchamp_ ," Connie corrects sharply. The only person who calls her 'Con' is Sam. "It's fine. I've come to terms with it. Not that it affects me, really. Is that everything?"

"No," Jacob admits. "I've just got one thing to ask you." He pauses for effect, and Connie sighs.

"Can you get on with it? I've got a meeting upstairs…"

"Does he make you happy? Happier than I did?"

It takes great effort for Connie not to roll her eyes. In all honesty, she never expected to have this conversation with Jacob, particularly about her feelings for Sam Strachan. Even though she knows she doesn't have to justify her feelings, it feels nice to be able to categorically confirm how she feels – because even just thinking about Sam has her feeling giddy.

"The fact that you need to _ask_ me that question suggests you know the answer already," Connie replies, her tone cold. "So let's stop behaving like we're in the playground, and return to the real world, okay?"

"That's not an answer."

Narrowing her eyes, Connie grabs a selection of files from the desk and stands up, striding towards the door. "It's all the answer you need," she replies sharply. "Because if you thought you had a chance, you wouldn't have bothered talking to me about it. Close the door on your way out, would you?"

With this, she strides past him and opens the door swiftly; she's halfway down the corridor before the door even fully swings open, leaving Jacob slack-mouthed and stunned.

* * *

~x~

Suddenly finding herself having to go upstairs for a fictitious meeting, Connie finds herself gravitating towards Darwin ward. Even if Sam's in theatre, she can go and have a chat to Jac about one of the various issues her counterpart hasn't yet resolved for the ED – and maybe even have a personal chat. The younger woman, although not entirely Connie's cup of tea, is one of the closest friends she has in this hospital, or indeed in the world. Mutual suspicion has, somehow, formed the bedrock for a relatively strong friendship.

They've met up outside of work a few times, almost always with Ric Griffin, and it's been fun. Sam's always been a little offended that he hasn't been invited along – maybe one of these days he will. The evenings started a few weeks ago as a means to relive the glory days, back when Jayne Grayson was the CEO and Connie's biggest problem was Michael Spence interfering with her funding plans. They expanded a little more than Connie had anticipated, and she's stumbled home at midnight more than once, to Sam's eternal amusement.

Apparently, he even has a video of her saying _nice_ things about her colleagues – as well as her lover, of course.

"Mrs B, what a pleasant surprise," Zosia March says with a smile as she looks up from the workstation to see Connie approaching. Connie particularly liked the registrar during her secondment to Darwin, and she's pleased to see the younger woman. "Mr Strachan and Ms Naylor are both in the office, if you're here to see them? I don't think we've got any patients that you've referred…"

"Thank you, Zosia," Connie replies kindly, a slight smile on her lips. "The new hairstyle suits you."

"Cheers," Zosia smiles, subconsciously reaching up to touch her recently cropped locks. She's gone almost red-haired, and Connie secretly wonders if Jac sees this as a threat to her status as the hospital's only red-head. Probably not. Not even Jac is that shallow.

Without bothering to knock, Connie enters the consultants' office and interrupts a clearly passionate debate…about the correct use of an oxford comma

"Hello, darling," Sam says suddenly, looking across at Connie. He looks confused, before checking his watch. "We didn't have plans for lunch, did we?"

Smiling, Connie shakes her head, closing the door behind her. "No…I just had to come upstairs, get away from a situation."

Across in the corner, Jac's no longer startled; instead, she's grinning. "So, of course you came to see your favourite person in the hospital – me," she comments, her tone humorous. "Best try and cut it down to once a week though, Connie, otherwise people will be talking."

"They already talk," Connie retorts, walking over to Sam's desk. "Can I ask why you're arguing over grammar? Have you really got nothing better to do."

As she reaches Sam, he stands up and presses a swift kiss to her cheek, pressing a hand to her waist as he does. She smiles as she steps back again, pleased that, for once, Jac decides to keep shtum over their display of affection.

Then again, Connie concedes, this is nothing compared to when she passionately kissed Sam in the middle of Darwin ward.

"Well, Jac here thinks that it's pointless," Sam explains swiftly, before Jac can get a word in. "And, I mean, I know that you _love_ the comma, and know that it's definitely worthwhile…"

The look Connie shoots Sam is humorous as she takes a seat opposite his desk, leaning backwards as soon as she's seated. "I wouldn't say that I _love_ the oxford comma, sweetheart, that's perhaps a slight exaggeration. It definitely exists though. Why would you think it doesn't, Jac?" The last part is directed towards Jac, who has an almost euphoric expression on her face.

"You know, if anyone had asked me two years ago, _this_ is the most surreal experience I would have been able to come up with," Jac comments, without acknowledging Connie. "I mean, you were shacking up with the nurse in corridors, and Sam…well, you were a bit of a dickhead – no offence."

"None taken," Sam says with a laugh. "Though I'm sure Con would agree that it's slightly strange that you were thinking about _this_ two years ago…" His tone turns dry, and Connie has to stop herself from snorting.

"I didn't say that I _did_ ," Jac corrects, a glimmer in her eyes. "But anyway, enough about the romance of the century. I'm pretty sure there's a theatre slot with your name on it, Sam. Best get to it before I come and steal it from you."

Sam heaves a sigh, and stands up from his chair slowly, shedding his jacket as he does. "You're right," he replies slowly. "I'll see you later though, sweetheart?" He adds to Connie, briefly pressing his lips against hers as he passes.

"Looking forward to it!" Jac replies cheerily, ignoring the looks both Connie and Sam shoot her. As soon as the door's closed, she adds, "so, Connie, how're things?"

"Good," Connie acknowledges, standing up and moving so that she's sitting behind Sam's desk. His chair is definitely more comfortable than hers – but his desk infinitesimally messier. Not that that surprises her, of course. "And yourself? How is Emma – she must be at school now, surely?"

There's a strangely maternal expression on Jac's face, and Connie can't recall ever seeing it before. Not that she would ever dare to judge another human being on their ability as a parent – Lord only knows how many people have judged _her_.

"She's good," Jac admits, biting her lip. "She starts school in September, which will definitely make it easier for childcare. Brilliant speller, though she doesn't seem to care about science."

"They never do," Connie agrees, casting herself back through memory lane to think about Grace's childhood. Years three to seven, she'd seen everything: from the first school play to the loss of the first tooth, Connie hadn't had to learn about it from someone else. She'd been there, and she'd been Grace's favourite person. She's glad that they're finally returning to a similar sort of relationship. "Grace told me that she never, ever wanted to work in a hospital when she was five. And, so far, she's stuck to her word."

"To be honest, the way that the NHS is going, I don't _want_ her to work in a hospital," Jac admits. "Maybe an astronaut, or an engineer. Or whatever she wants, really."

"True," Connie agrees, twiddling the ends of her hair as she speaks. "By the time they get into work, we might not even have jobs."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" Joking, Jac leans forwards. "And anyway, you might have another little one by then…" She trails off, and it takes a few seconds for Connie to realise the connotations of her colleague's words.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Connie retorts, unable to hide the shock in her voice. There's something about Jac that makes her feel comfortable talking about motherhood and failings more comfortably than with anyone else – even Sam. "I barely managed to raise Grace. I hardly think that another child will fare better."

"Have you and Sam not talked about it?" Jac asks, her brow furrowed. "I had just assumed that this was the next step…"

"Absolutely, categorically not," Connie replies firmly. Her mind suddenly starts racing: has Sam maybe hinted at something to Jac? Does he _want_ another child? "I didn't realise that he wanted…but, yes, I'm fine with just a one child household."

Smiling slightly, Jac presses a few buttons on her computer before she replies. The stack of paperwork on her desk makes Connie feel uncomfortable; maybe she could get away with doing it under the spirit of inter-departmental cohesion. "Don't worry, he hasn't said he wants another kid – I don't think he does, to be honest. Just seemed like it would be something you'd do now that you're…a thing. But I was wrong, clearly."

"Phew," Connie admits, slightly horrified at herself as soon as she says it. "Would…would you like another?"

Jac snorts. "You're having a laugh aren't you? Emma's great, of course she is, but I don't want another. _Ever_. It's hard enough to get people to look after her; can you imagine another one?"

Cogs start turning in Connie's mind. She doesn't want another child – and neither does Sam, she's almost certain – but young children are still relatively…cute. Especially when they're not hers – when, at the end of the day, she can hand them back. And she's not exactly got any challenges going on in her life at the moment…

"When do you need cover?" Connie finds herself asking.

Agape, Jac simply stares at Connie. "What are you on about?"

Slowly, Connie repeats, "When do you need cover? For Gr—Emma…"

"What do you mean? For you to look after her?" Jac clearly can't get her head around the situation – and, to be honest, neither can Connie. She came up here to escape Jacob, not to babysit a child.

"I'm sure that, between us, Sam and I can handle a small child, Jac," Connie says, half-sharply. "Admittedly, Sam is a big child, but that should make things easier."

"I, er, are you _sure_?" Jac confirms.

"I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't." There's a slight lie in there somewhere, but Connie wouldn't ever admit it. "I don't want another child, but I'm fairly certain I can look after one."

"Friday would be great." It's taken a few minutes, but finally Jac relents. "The babysitter's on sick and I can't get anywhere decent to take her. I can't even ask Sam to cover because Henrik's on the warpath over overtime for consultants."

Connie snorts. "Consultants get overtime? That's news to me."

"Tell me about it. But are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

~x~

"Lil, I was…well…I thought that we should go somewhere nice for a change," Iain begins slowly and extremely disjointedly as he sets down his wine glass. They're waiting for their main meal, and it seems the perfect opportunity to broach a strange subject. Or a terrible one – as if things don't work out, they've got an entire two courses to sit through together.

"Are you alright?" Lily asks, her tone concerned. "Or is it something else?"

"I don't know how to say this so I might as well come straight out and say it," Iain continues, picking up the pace a little as he looks into Lily's eyes. She's open and eager and completely focused on him. It makes a change, to be honest; whenever they're at work, he's convinced that she's always got half an ear waiting for her name to be called. "I like you. You like me – I think."

"I do," Lily confirms, a smile slipping onto her lips.

"You like me," Iain continues, grinning despite himself. "And we've learnt a lot about each other, these past few months. And whilst it's been nice to not have a label…I think that it's time that we do. If you want one, that is. But I do. Because I love you, Lily Chao. And I want the world to know it."

Blushing, Lily breaks eye contact for a moment to brush the hair out of her face. Taking a deep breath, she says, "I…I love you too, Iain Dean. But you need to get a new mattress."

"What's wrong with my mattress?" Iain asks, almost affronted. "And I can't believe we're talking about my _mattress_ when we're talking about this."

"This?" Lily teases. "Just joking. I…

"I would love to officially date you."

* * *

~x~

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" Sam asks with faux-concern in his voice as he stands in the doorway to the kitchen. "You're…cooking…a meal? Without me?"

Rolling her eyes, Connie turns around and smiles from next to the cooker. "Sam, I survived for a good twenty-five years without having you around to cook for me. I'm perfectly sure I can make a _lasagne_ without anything going wrong."

"Lasagne?" Sam's interest is clearly piqued. "My favourite…but you…we _never_ have lasagne." Grinning, he walks across the kitchen and wraps his arms around Connie's waist, whispering into her ear, "Connie Beauchamp, are you trying to sweeten me up for something?"

Gulping, Connie shakes her head. "Not at all. Just thought you'd want a break from cooking, _sexy biscuit_." She can't remember the last time that they used the silly nicknames they created for each other in the gym; the one time that Grace heard them using them, her expression suggested that she disapproved of them more than anything else in her life.

Whispering sweet nothings against her skin, Sam works his way down from Connie's ear to her shoulder, never leaving her skin. His touch makes her lose her train of thought, and it takes a few minutes for Connie to remember the two topics of conversation they had to talk about.

"Timer's set, let's go have a drink," she says with a smile, taking hold of Sam's hand as she pulls him through to the living room.

"Just a drink?" Sam pouts, and Connie can't stop herself from laughing. Grace is out and, on any normal day, she'd be the first one to suggest going upstairs whilst dinner cooks. But today, there are more important things to talk about.

"So…firstly, I probably should have said something to you _before_ I agreed…but, well, I sort of said to Jac that we'd look after Emma on Friday…" Connie trails off as she sits down next to Sam, his arm tightly tucked around her shoulders.

There's a beat of silence before Sam laughs. "Are you joking?"

"Why would I be joking?" Connie asks, realising that she said the exact same thing to Jac Naylor earlier.

"Well, I just didn't think that you wanted more kids around." Sam's voice is confused. "I mean, I don't either. One's more than enough. But _babysitting_? And babysitting a _Naylor_ , Con?"

Immediately, Connie feels some of the tension lift. Sam doesn't want another kid. She was right. "She's a four-year-old, Sam, not the spawn of Satan," Connie retorts, smiling a little into his chest. "And just because I don't want to have another child doesn't mean that we can't spend time with some. We can give her back at the end of the day, remember?"

"True," Sam concedes, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Though if she's a terror, we're taking her straight into Darwin and Jac can have her straight back. And if she even thinks about touching our wooden animals, she's going outside for the rest of the day. I don't care if it's raining."

Even though she knows he's joking, deep down Connie is glad that Sam didn't spend that much time with Grace as a small child. She doesn't think that their father-daughter relationship would be as strong if they had…

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Connie says firmly.

She turns slightly so that she's facing Sam before she continues speaking. "Sweetheart, we didn't really talk about the whole Birmingham job yesterday. I just wanted to say…we'll do whatever it takes so that you can take the job. As you're definitely going to be offered it. We can relocate – Grace is young enough so it won't affect her schooling – or you can go during the week and come back at weekends, or _something_." She takes a deep breath before she continues, keeping his gaze throughout. "But you deserve this job, Sam. And we can come up with a way that it works, together. I know we can."

There's one, two, three seconds of silence before Sam smiles and says, "I turned the job down."

Connie's stunned. "What?"

Shrugging, Sam runs his hand through Connie's hair. "It just wasn't right for me, I guess." He frowns slightly, as though he's unsure how to phrase something. "It was just too far away, I think. We're a family – a _real_ family – and I can't expect you to just up sticks the moment that I get a new job. You've got your own career and Grace has school, and friends…and we have a life in Holby. It just doesn't feel right to move at this moment."

"We're fine to move," Connie insists.

"And that's why I love you," Sam says. "I know you don't want to move. But you're willing to, for me."

"Always."

"Maybe in a few years," Sam concedes. "When you're back in cardiothoracics, and we need to find somewhere with a few hospitals so that we don't have to work together again, and Grace has disappeared off to uni or whatever she ends up doing. For now, though, I'm happy. You're happy. Grace is happy. And we have friends here. Why ruin this?"

He doesn't need to say the other reason that Connie's thinking: that this is their home, their place, and neither of them can imagine being anywhere else at this moment in time.

"I love you," Connie whispers. "The next time, the job'll be closer. I know it."

"I know," Sam agrees. "Now, we've got thirty minutes before dinner's ready, and an empty house. Why are we just sitting here?"

Connie has to admit, he has a point.

* * *

Please let me know what you think :)


	17. Goodbyes

Chapter Seventeen:

Sincere apologies for the sheer length of time since the last update! That life's been busy would be an understatement...

* * *

"I can't actually believe you're looking after a _baby_ today," Grace says with a laugh in her voice as she picks up a piece of toast. She's looking directly at both Connie and Sam, neither of whom quite manage to meet her gaze. "Like, no offence, but I can't imagine either of you making funny faces and talking in baby talk."

This gets Connie to make eye contact with her daughter. "Have you forgotten the mental age of your father, Gracie?" She jests, but deep down, she is slightly nervous at the prospect of looking after a toddler for an entire day – with no escape route.

"Hey," Sam shoots back, gently digging Connie in the ribs. "Not cool. Plus, Grace, she isn't a baby. It's a four-year-old. So there."

Connie rolls her eyes; she's not sure who'll be the bigger child today: Sam or Emma. "And let's not forget, sweetheart, that I pulled funny faces and talk in a funny voice when you were a baby."

" _Barely_ ," Sam retorts, and Connie's attention is drawn from Grace back to Sam as he issues a challenge non-verbally. And she is going to _destroy_ this challenge. "The one time I heard you, you sounded as if you were going to cough up a lung at the prospect of speaking in anything other than the Queen's English."

"That's because I knew you were listening!" Connie retorts. "At least my baby talk had a shred of relevancy to English, rather than your incoherent rambling which did nothing more than make her laugh!" She smiles at him as she talks, raising her eyebrows slightly, doing her best to portray the fact that, at the end of the day, she doesn't care about the technicalities of Sam's baby talk with Grace. It's just the way that they are – and they're both fully aware of it.

Grace stands up before Sam can reply, a prim smirk on her lips. "And this is exactly the other reason that I can't imagine coming home to see that Emma's still here," Grace comments, cramming a strawberry into her mouth. "You'll probably start arguing about something stupid, realise after five minutes that it isn't a real argument and it's just something that you're both doing because you just always do it for some reason. _Then_ you'll start talking about feelings or something that, again, you do _all the time_. And it'll only be at that point that you've realised that the kid's got a brain, and is halfway to the nearest sweet shop – because, once again, I bet you've forgotten that kids like sweets and haven't bought any."

Connie and Sam exchange concerned glances, before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

"You've thought it through very comprehensively, sweetheart," Connie gasps, clutching her stomach to try and stop herself laughing. "I'm very proud. We'll make a creative writer of you yet."

"And I've got loads of sweets," Sam says proudly. "Just got a secret stash that you don't know about…"

Connie narrows her eyes, just about recovered from her fit of laughter. "I don't think that the sweets issue was the central point that Grace was trying to make, darling."

"True," Sam concedes, running a hand through his hair. "But, just to be clear, there are sweets in the house. And anyway, Gracie, we've got a dog. Emma'll love him, I'm sure."

"Maybe," Grace says off-hand, dusting down the front of her school uniform as she tucks her seat back in under the table. "But I think you're forgetting one important thing…will Rufus like _her_?"

"Well I'm sure we'll find out soon, sweetheart," Connie replies with a smile, stretching one arm out towards Grace to indicate that she'd like a hug from her flippant daughter. "Have a fabulous day at school. Don't worry about us too much."

"Try not to lose a small child," Grace replies flippantly into her mother's hair. "Or end up in prison for murdering her…or Dad."

Connie wonders what she's done wrong over the years to be in a position where the mere prospect of looking after a small child leaves people worrying about the outcome. She's heard more than one hushed whisper discussing Max Walker's latest bet on her life – at least, she thinks wryly, this bet has nothing to do with her love life. Not that she's aware of, anyway…

"I'll try," Connie promises, smiling as she pushes Grace off towards the door. "Now hurry up and get your Dad to find his keys, otherwise you'll be late…"

* * *

~x~

As she arrives into the Holby City Emergency Department on this fateful Friday morning, Elle Gardner tries to get her head around the fact that, in ten hours' time, she'll finish her shift and that will be that. From that point onwards, she will no longer be an employee of Holby City Trust – or _any_ trust, for that matter. Or any organisation, to be more technically accurate. Once again, she'll be unemployed…and once again, she wonders if she's making the right decision.

"Morning, Doctor Gardner," Max says as she passes, stifling a yawn. "Excited to be getting out of here? I bet there are about fifty drinks with your name already on them…"

The immediate answer Elle wants to give is _no, I'm not ready to leave_. But it was her decision to hand her resignation in, and her decision to work for a more worthwhile cause. Not that helping the general public isn't worthwhile, of course. But working with young women across the African continent seems a little more necessary, at this moment at least.

So Elle pulls herself together and says, "Can't wait," as she gives Max the widest smile she can muster. She holds her head high, grasps the bag strap on her shoulder a little more tightly, and strides off towards the staff room, to change into scrubs for the last time in Holby City Hospital.

* * *

~x~

"So today is Elle's last day…" Charlie says, his tone almost conspiratorially quiet as he addresses the team around him. He's seen her walk in, but he's not entirely sure where the departing consultant is, and he doesn't want to ruin the surprise.

"Congratulations, Charlie, I guess you've finally been reading your emails," Louise jests, though nobody else even cracks a smile. Evidently, her colleagues still haven't managed to get over her treatment of James Marshall, the paramedic she publicly shamed for something that wasn't his fault.

"It doesn't seem real," Alicia comments, seamlessly acting as though Louise hasn't spoken. "Like I swear it was only yesterday that she arrived?"

"And Mrs Beauchamp isn't here today," Ethan continues, frowning a little. "She's always here on people's last days. Especially her consultants. Did she forget?"

Max laughs. "Nah, she's babysitting the Naylor child today," he explains, rolling his eyes. "Bets are still on as to whether the kid makes it through the entire day."

" _Anyway_ ," Charlie interrupts, holding his hands up to stop the inevitable responses to Max's mention of a bet. "Elle's leaving. Have you all done the things we arranged that we would do?"

Half of the team shoot Charlie a 'we can't believe you're actually asking us this' look; the other half look slightly perplexed. Whether it's legitimate confusion or a rouse to complicate his feelings, Charlie doesn't know.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," Max says, clapping his hands together. "You know, you really need to have more faith in us."

"Because Elle means just as much to us as she does to you," Alicia continues, making eye contact with Max and laughing slightly. Despite her recent departure from the Walker-Miller-and co household, she's still very much on the same wavelength with Max – especially when it comes to having a laugh with people.

"Maybe even more," Max adds.

"Maybe," Alicia jests. "So I _promise_ you, Charlie, we've got it covered."

There's a beat of silence, before Alicia hears a voice come from behind her.

"What have you got covered?"

Elle Gardner.

Alicia takes a deep breath and thanks her lucky stars that she didn't even hint at the fact that they're organising a surprise party for her, turning to face Elle with a smile. "Oh, you know, just cubicles," she replies breezily, running a hand through her hair as she deliberately avoids eye contact with anybody other than Elle. "Just the usual, you know, broken foot, rainbow coloured abscess…"

"Right…" Elle says warily, though with a glimmer in her eyes. "Well, I'll leave you and your…rainbow coloured abscess, shall I? Have a lovely morning, team."

As the consultant walks away, Charlie breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, I believe that you've got it all sorted," he says hurriedly, before any of his colleagues can continue talking. "Because that was far too close to call. From now on, the only mentions of the party will be under a specific code."

"Operation Market Garden!" Max calls out immediately, punching a fist into the air.

"Why?" Ethan asks, his curiosity piqued.

"Because her surname is Gardner, and I think that the added 'market' makes it sound a bit more unique and _less_ about Elle," Max explains.

Exchanging a glance with Ethan, Charlie smirks a little, and decides that a brief history lesson on World War Two might be necessary for half of the team

"Right, Operation Market Garden it is," Charlie accepts, clapping his hands together. "And let's just hope that it goes a bit better than the original one…"

* * *

~x~

As she tidies the already immaculate living room for the umpteenth time, Connie does her best to cast her memory back to the time when Grace was the same age as Emma Naylor. Her daughter had been adorable, true, but she had also been a handful. No activity gained her attention for more than a few minutes, an hour at best, and she always wanted what she didn't have.

She always wanted Sam.

Well, Connie amends mentally, she didn't want Sam – as far as Grace was concerned, the only constant person in her life was her mother. When she was left with others whilst Connie worked, she screamed the house down wanting nobody but her beloved mother.

But there had always been something _missing_ in Grace's childhood. A relative other than a mother and a dying grandad: someone to shower attention and praise and gifts upon her in person, rather than just over the phone and by mail twice a year. Just like Connie had needed someone to reassure her that, yes, she was doing things right – and, no, she didn't need to send her to boarding school whilst William Chase died.

"Con, you _do_ realise that the minute that a toddler descends on this room, it won't matter how tidy it is, don't you?" Sam's almost flirtatious tone startles Connie from her reverie – a thought process she _doesn't_ need to share with Sam. There's been enough tension over the years regarding the raising of their daughter, and she doesn't need to bring it to the forefront again.

"I know," Connie replies dryly, a smile spreading onto her lips. "But her mother is as image conscious as she is sly, sweetheart. And if a thing's out of place, the hospital will know faster than an F2 can take a blood sample."

"Oddly specific example, darling," Sam remarks as he steps into the living room towards Connie. He puts his arms around her waist and leans his head over her shoulder, so his lips are grazing her cheek. "I imagine that Jac's used to the mess. I mean, she shares an office with _me_."

"True," Connie concedes, reaching round so that her hand is intertwined within Sam's hair. "But, then again, this is Jac Naylor. She can probably carry Emma at the same time as saving someone's life!"

It's at this precise moment that Connie realises that at least a part of her is in awe of Jac Naylor. And that's something that she never, ever thought she'd say.

Sam snorts a little; she can feel his breath exhale onto her cheek, though not in an unpleasant manner. "Sweetheart, you are literally the most formidable woman in the country, if not Europe. I really don't think that you should be worrying about not measuring up to Jac Naylor – if anything, it's the other way around!"

Shrugging slightly, Connie pulls herself out of Sam's embrace so that she can face him directly. Whereas before it was easier to talk about difficult things away from him, she's reached the stage where she feels more comfortable talking to his face. That, and the fact that she's willing to talk about these things openly, is probably the clearest sign that being in a long-term relationship – or, probably more specifically, a relationship with Sam Strachan – has changed her. For the better…probably, anyway.

"She can handle it all though, Sam. On her own." Biting her lip for a moment, Connie blinks before continuing, grasping a tight hold of Sam's hand. "She can be Clinical Lead _and_ a good mother _and_ everything else. And it's just her."

The expression in Sam's eyes tells her everything she needs to hear, without her even needing to hear it. That she isn't a failure for admitting weakness – just as she isn't a failure for not being able to do it all.

"She doesn't do it all on her own," Sam says simply, not dropping Connie's gaze. "Not that her experiences are anywhere similar to yours. Not that it even matters." He takes a deep breath before he asks, "why did you decide to babysit Emma?"

Connie's dumbstruck. "I…what do you mean? I told you. To help Jac." It looks like Sam's about to reply when she continues, "and…because I wanted a challenge. Everything at work is so simple, going so well – and everything at home, too. I'm…for the first time in a _long_ time, Sam, there's no challenge in my life."

Sam smiles. "So you wanted to create your own," he continues, laughing a little. Reaching out, he presses a gentle kiss to Connie's forehead as she presses a hand against his chest. "I think that you're going to ace it, as you ace everything."

"No," Connie interrupts, a smile slipping onto her lips once more. She's not calm, because she's never calm when she's facing a challenge. " _We're_ going to ace it."

Outside, a car pulls up, and the driver's door opens to reveal Jac Naylor.

"Well, we're about to find out."

* * *

~x~

"Well, good morning, Doctor Keogh," Drishti Batra comments flirtatiously as she almost bumps into Dylan in front of cubicles.

She stayed at his – or, rather, _on_ his – home again last night, but this is the first time that they've both been at work the day after. Their relationship remains under wraps at work, save for Mrs Beauchamp (and most likely Sam Strachan), and it's infuriatingly difficult to resist acting as she would out of work hours. Normally, she has at least a bit of time to get back into the mindset of their relationship being solely registrar-consultant, but today she isn't so lucky.

"Good morning, Drishti," Dylan replies. It's clear that he's doing his best to appear disinterested, his tone quasi-flat, but he doesn't quite manage it. There's a twinkle in his eye that his doctor demeanour can't quite quash – same for the smile that slips onto his lips almost involuntarily. That's not to mention the eye contact that Dylan Keogh saves but for a very special few. "Have a good evening?"

Drishti sees this as her opportunity to tease Dylan. Shrugging, she says, "ah, could have been better, I guess. Went out with this alright guy, but I didn't manage to get dessert."

"Ah, I see," Dylan replies. It's increasingly clear that he expected Drishti to respond to his question this way, and she almost kicks herself for not being coy enough with her response. "Well perhaps next time, you should _ask_ for dessert…"

Laughing, Drishti shakes her head and lightly punches Dylan's arm. It's the first time that she's been brave enough to initiate even the slightest of physical contact between the two of them in the workplace, but nobody appears to notice. Plus, it isn't as if she's suddenly overcome by a desire to kiss Dylan right there and then. Well, she is, but nothing more than usual.

"Nah, I'm kidding," she laughs. "He's a really great guy. You might even get to meet him someday."

"I highly doubt that," Dylan replies, as dryly as possible.

"You never know," Drishti continues. "Right, best be off, doc. Patients to see and all that. See you later."

* * *

~x~

"Morning," Connie says with a smile as she opens her front door to reveal Jac and Emma standing on the doorstep, the former looking appropriately impressed. It was only when Jac had rung asking for her address that Connie had realised that her Darwin counterpart had never been to her house – or even come close to paying a house visit. "Hello Emma. How are you?" She crouches down a little so that she's more on the toddler's level, a wide smile on her face.

Emma grins back and Connie feels immediately at ease. She's gotten over the first hurdle – Emma hasn't cried at the sight of her.

"Mummy said you're _almost_ a doctor like she is," Emma says proudly, glancing away from Connie to look back up at her mother.

Connie, too, looks up towards Jac, who has a half-smug, half-embarrassed smile on her face as she meets Connie's gaze.

"That's almost right," Connie replies distractedly, deciding that it isn't worth the effort of explaining the hospital hierarchy to a child. "Have you had breakfast yet, sweetheart?"

Emma shakes her head, and Jac sighs, exasperated.

"Yes you have, Em," Jac comments dryly, taking a step forwards. "Can we come in, Connie? I've got to be at work in twenty minutes."

"Oh, yes, of course," Connie replies, standing upright. "Anything interesting on the cards today?"

"Just the usual," Jac says, closing the front door behind her. "Sam in?"

"I'm here," Sam comments suddenly, a waving hand followed by a body out of the kitchen. "Didn't want there to be too many people around at first. Hi Emma!"

"Hi Sam!" Emma says excitedly. "Mummy, you didn't say that _Sam_ was going to be here, too!"

"Why don't you come with me into the kitchen, Emma, and we can get you something to drink?" Sam suggests, not quite making eye contact with Connie.

As soon as he's gone, Jac leans in towards Connie and explains. "Emma's got a bit of a crush on Sam, you see," she whispers, a hint of amusement evident within her voice. "I don't personally see it, but he doesn't seem concerned."

"Of course," Connie replies, smiling slightly. Of all the things she expected to see today, a child with a particular interest in Sam wasn't one of them. "So, is there anything I need to know?"

"Um…she's allergic to penicillin, and has a particular interest in trying to put her hand into a toilet so if you can keep an eye on her when she needs to go to the loo, that'd be great," Jac explains, handing Connie a rather hefty bag. "Her favourite toys are in here, I've warned her to stay away from Sam's precious wooden toys as per his stupid demand, and she usually has a nap around two thirty. Have a nice day."

After calling through a parting comment to her daughter, Jac is out of the door almost faster than Connie can blink, the door swinging shut to leave just herself, Sam and a four-year-old child in her house.

With a deep breath, Connie smiles and walks towards the kitchen, determined to make the most of this day.

* * *

~x~

"I am _knackered_ ," Sam says with a huge sigh as he flops down onto the sofa beside Connie, his arm extended over the back of the sofa behind her figure. "Who knew that looking after a toddler would be so hard? It's only been…" He pauses briefly to check his watch before continuing, "five hours. _How_?"

Connie smiles slightly as she looks up to meet his gaze, deliberately forcing herself to not yawn. The morning's taken more out of her than she's willing to admit, though it's been fun. A challenge, yes, but absolutely a fun one – especially with Sam Strachan at her side.

"With ease, sweetheart," Connie replies, smiling. "I take it she's asleep?"

Sam grimaces. "It took almost twenty minutes to get her to stop asking me questions and to sleep! How does Jac put up with that?"

Connie snorts; she can't help herself, but Sam's indignation at Emma taking twenty minutes to fall asleep amuses her more than it should. Despite having two children, he doesn't have any real understanding of what parenting – the real day-to-day parenting, anyway – is.

"Twenty minutes is _good_ ," Connie clarifies, noting Sam's confused look. "There were times when the amount of time it took me to get Grace to go to sleep was ridiculous, probably even longer than she ended up sleeping for. Then there was the issue that she refused to go to sleep for anybody other than me – you don't know how many babysitters quit after a couple of late stints when my father had a bad turn."

Sam's silent – so silent that Connie's perplexed. She hasn't said anything she shouldn't have, has she?

"I really did miss a lot, didn't I?" Sam finally speaks, his voice low and quiet. "I didn't just miss the teeth and the birthday parties and the fun milestones. It was the rest of it. All the rest of it."

"And yet she's had you for the more important points in her life," Connie argues, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Neither of us are exactly going to win parent of the year awards, Sam. There's no point lamenting our failings. We might as well move on, and be positive about the future. To ensure that we're there for Grace _now_ when she needs us."

"I love you, Connie Beauchamp," Sam says suddenly, his eyes locked firmly into hers. "You're the most incredible woman on the planet."

Blushing slightly, Connie looks away, embarrassed. Although she's grown used to Sam's continual compliments, there are still times when she feels uncomfortable, unworthy of being told that she's brilliant or wonderful or beautiful, whatever Sam's latest compliment is.

Deciding to change the subject in an attempt to get beyond the strangely unworthy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Connie laughs slightly. "So we've done some painting, read a book and had some lunch. How do you feel, Mr Strachan, about showing off your incredible _baking_ skills to the young Naylor?"

It's incredibly, painfully obvious that she's changed the subject, but for once Sam doesn't comment on it. Instead, he gently touches her chin, the contact causing her eyes to shift back to his almost involuntarily. No matter how much time they spend together, she still wants more – and she hopes that that never changes.

"I suppose I could be _persuaded_ to make my world famous chocolate cheesecake," Sam muses, tucking his arm more firmly around Connie's shoulders. "I just don't know how I could be persuaded. Or just _who_ would be my most glamorous of assistants…I really just don't know…"

Connie laughs and raises her eyebrows as she tucks a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. "I can think of someone," she comments, hearing the explicitly flirtatious note within her voice. "And I _think_ I know just how to persuade you…"

Before Sam can reply, Connie moves so that her lips are pressed to his, shifting her weight so that it's more comfortable to be sitting with her legs across his lap. Her arms wrap tightly around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. He deepens the kiss, quite literally taking her breath away, and Connie finds herself losing track of everything other than this moment, this man, this kiss.

That is until a thud from upstairs breaks her out of the moment, a stark reminder that a child – specifically, a child which is not _theirs_ – is in their house and, very shortly, will require their attention.

"How about we do the persuading _after_?" Connie suggests, breaking away from Sam's embrace.

Unwilling to relent, Sam presses a series of kisses to Connie's neck, each and every one causing a shiver to run through her body. "How about five more minutes? I'm sure she won't even notice."

Rolling her eyes, Connie just about suppresses a smile as she comments, "later, sweetheart."

"So unfair," Sam comments in the manner of a petulant child, though Connie can hear more than a slight undertone of humour in his tone.

"Welcome to parenthood, darling."

* * *

~x~

"Alicia, I hear you're in charge of OMG…" Staff Nurse Jacob Masters says almost conspiratorially as he approaches Alicia at the work station in the centre of the ED.

Frowning, Alicia looks up from the patient file in front of her to meet Jacob's gaze. "OMG?" She repeats, thinking rapidly about anything and everything that could have something to do with this phrase. "No idea, Jacob, sorry."

Leaning in even closer, Jacob shakes his head. " _No_. Operation Market Garden…" He trails off, and Alicia has to laugh at the cloak and dagger nature of his actions.

" _Oh_ , the Elle thing!" Alicia grins, looking away from Jacob and across towards Ethan. "Why didn't you just say, man? No need for the abbreviation of the code name, it's just confusing!"

Jacob rolls his eyes, and wonders whether the registrar before him has ever managed to successfully keep a secret. "I figured that it would be safer to abbreviate even the code name. I'm sure that Elle's suspicious – and I don't know where she is. And she'll be even more suspicious if she hears her name in the same sentence as _Operation Market Garden_. Who even came up with such a rubbish name, anyway?"

"Well, Elle's in HDU removing a certain pleasurable object from somebody's behind, so I'm fairly sure we're safe for now," Alicia comments, smirking a little. Where it would have been herself completing such a procedure if Mrs Beauchamp had been in, Elle seemed more than happy to get stuck in…though most likely because it would be the last item she removed from somebody for quite a while. "Anyway, what's up about the plan, Jacob? Something wrong?"

"No, no, everything's fine," Jacob says hurriedly. "I just wanted to confirm the plan. We don't want her to be suspicious, I assume, so I thought that rather than the entire team asking if she wants to grab a farewell drink, I should ask her?"

Ethan steps closer in order to get involved more completely with the conversation. "Er, yeah there might be a problem with that…"

Both Alicia and Jacob's attention snaps to Ethan then, shock evident on both of their faces.

"What do you mean?" Alicia demands. "That was the plan! _Ethan_ , what have you done?"

"Don't look at me!" Ethan returns, slightly defensive. "Well, actually, I suppose you should look at me but—"

"Ethan. _Tell_ me what's happened." Alicia's voice is firm as she interrupts Ethan, setting her pen down as she speaks.

"Well…I _think_ I overheard Noel rambling on about it being Elle's last day…to Elle…" Ethan begins hesitantly. "And there was maybe mention of the Hope and Anchor…I'm not _certain_ , but maybe…"

"Ugh," Alicia moans, dropping her head into her hands. "Why did we even let Noel know that we _had_ a plan?"

At almost the same time, Jacob sighs. "Right. I'll go see what he's said, and try and see if there's a way I can fix it. I'll get her there on time. Promise."

As Jacob walks away, Alicia turns to Ethan with a mock-irritated expression on her face. "And _you_ , mister, next time that you ever hear Noel talking about something secret, make sure you interrupt him." Tapping him gently on the chest in reprimand as she speaks, Alicia smiles as Ethan drops a pen into her scrubs pocket.

"Promise," Ethan replies with a smile. "Here. I guess you've already lost your pen so have my spare."

"I love you, you know."

"I know."

* * *

~x~

If Jac Naylor had been told on Monday that Friday would see her daughter being babysat by _Connie Beauchamp_ , she would have told them that they were having a laugh. The cornerstone of Connie, in Jac's opinion at least, is the certainty that motherhood could not be considered a natural strength of hers. Whilst she's managed to raise Grace well despite the near-constant crises inherent in their lives, the question of whether she would have another child seems unlikely to be anything other than no.

Even the return of Sam Strachan into her life wouldn't have changed the judgement – by much, anyway. Six months and more of working directly with Sam has led to Jac knowing him well, and him her, and adding a third child to his brood hasn't been something he's been particularly vocal about. Scratch that, he's almost directly said to Jac that he _doesn't_ want another child.

So the situation of Connie Beauchamp and Sam Strachan looking after Emma – a child in all senses of the word – is strange at best. At worst, it sounds like a nightmare combination of babysitters formed out of the potentially strictest and most lax options available.

And yet, strangely, Jac hasn't worried once about Emma's well-being. A brief text at lunch was followed by an even briefer, clearly secret phone call from Sam asking how to make Emma actually sleep during nap time, but she hasn't given the situation a second thought all day.

It's a little after six as she approaches the Beauchamp-Strachan household on Wharram Lane, meandering through the heavy traffic in this part of Holby. It was only as she arrived this morning that Jac realised that she'd never been near Connie's house – though she certainly wasn't surprised to see its elegance. Inside was even more Connie than Jac could have imagined: beautiful, logical and probably extortionately expensive, it matched Connie – and to an extent Sam – to perfection.

As she approaches the driveway, Jac turns to look at the house, slightly surprised to see that the front window is bare, allowing all passers-by to see in. Well, Jac mentally amends, there aren't exactly many people deliberately peering between two bushes in a Range Rover to see the inside of a house on a street of equally nice houses.

The scene surprises her though, because it's not what she expected to see. It isn't how she expected them to be. Sitting around a table as a family, Sam's back to the window, Emma sitting close to Connie and laughing at something that someone has said. Grace on the other side of Emma, attention absorbed by the younger child.

It looks idyllic, perfect – the epitome of a model family in a model home.

Shaking her head dramatically, Jac sighs and forces the implications of the image out of her mind. She knows. She knows that this family isn't perfect – it isn't real. Connie and Sam are a strong couple, admittedly, but they have as many problems as anyone – if not more. Seeing them together, as a family, doesn't diminish her family with her daughter, even if it does tug at her heartstrings slightly as she subconsciously questions why Connie Beauchamp can do something that she cannot.

Within two minutes, Jac's on the driveway, parked up and heading towards the door. She knocks once, then again, before remembering there's a doorbell.

"Hey, Jac," Sam says with a smile as he opens the door to reveal that the hallway looks identical to earlier. "Come in." He opens the door wider and takes a step back, giving Jac room to get into the house.

Taking a split second to push any resentment and wistfulness out of her mind, Jac smiles as she takes a step closer to the door. "Take it you survived a day with my daughter, then?"

Before Sam can reply, the dining room door opens to reveal a rocket-fuelled four-year-old barrelling her way towards Jac.

"Mummy!" Emma cries out, wrapping her arms around Jac's waist. "I missed you! I had such a good day, Con-Connie and Sam let me do some painting and then we did some other things and then we had lunch and then we made _cookies_ and something called cheesecake, which doesn't taste like cheese but it's really nice! And then Grace came home and she braided my hair and let me listen to her music, so Mummy _please_ can we go and buy a One Direction CD? I really want one…" Almost without pausing for breath, Emma rattles off her entire day, leaving Jac bemused.

"That sounds wonderful, sweetheart," Jac says when it appears Emma has finished reciting everything she's done. "Why don't you go and get your things and then we can head home?"

"Okay!"

As soon as Emma's disappeared into another room, Jac raises an eyebrow and meets Sam's gaze. "So…had a fun day?"

Smiling, Sam nods. "Yeah, you know what, it's been great," he says, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Knackering though. But she's lovely. You're very lucky to have her."

"I know," Jac replies, tightening her grip on her handbag. "You missed out on a couple of exciting cases today. Guess you'll have to read the paperwork tomorrow."

"Good day, Jac?" Connie's voice surprises Jac, and she looks up to see the older woman rounding the door of what Jac's assumed is the dining room.

"Yes, not bad," Jac says, switching her attention to Connie. "You look a little more intact than I expected."

Snorting a little, Connie gives a half-smile back. "It was a flashback to ten years ago, absolutely," she agrees, "but it was a lovely experience. Emma's a very lovely girl."

"So you want to look after her every time I go to work?" Jac jokes.

A look of horror flashes across Connie's face before it's replaced with a carefully neutral expression. "Perhaps not," Connie replies, pressing her lips together. "I don't think that Rufus could handle it."

There's a beat of silence before Jac continues, "I really do appreciate that you did this today, really." Biting her lip, she swallows. "I owe you one, Connie."

Sam begins to say something, most likely requiring recognition for his efforts for the day, but Connie speaks first. "No problem, Jac. I'd invite you to stay for dinner, but we've got a prior engagement. One of my consultants is leaving, you know, the usual farewell speech." Connie's tone is airy, and it's almost impossible to hear her words as a request for a speedy departure from her home.

It's a vast difference from the Connie Beauchamp that Jac Naylor used to love and loathe, though perhaps that's just a work persona. Or perhaps she really has softened. Who knows.

* * *

~x~

"Mrs Beauchamp! I didn't realise you were coming," Ethan Hardy comments, a note of surprise in his voice, as he turns to see Connie, Sam and Grace standing in the doorway to the Hope and Anchor.

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Connie takes a step further into the pub and wishes that she'd brought her hand sanitiser. She's sure that everything in here is filthy – a problem given how often her staff frequent the place.

"It is Elle's final day," Connie reminds Ethan, almost sharply. "I don't miss people's last days, Doctor Hardy." Turning back to Sam briefly, her expression softens and she says, "White please, sweetheart. And Grace can have fizzy, if she wants."

"Thanks, Mum!" Grace's expression perks up, and she follows Sam across to the bar.

"Yes, well, erm, yes, well, we're here for Elle, obviously," Ethan stumbles, and Connie does her best to not laugh.

"Ethan, if you were serious about wanting to become a consultant, you really need to learn how to talk to me," Connie says. "I mean, you _were_ still interested in the vacancy, I assume?"

"I, er, _yes_ of course," Ethan replies, a smile spreading across his face. "I, well, yes, I suppose I had. Elle…Elle's on her way at some point, with, er, Jacob, so I imagine they'll be here soon. I'll see you later, Mrs Beauchamp." Without leaving Connie time to reply, Ethan nods and walks backwards towards

"Ah, Connie." Before Connie has time to even remove her coat, there's another person wanting her attention. This time, however, it's Charlie and Connie's more inclined to talk. "I'm pleased you made it. I knew you wouldn't have forgotten."

Deciding to ignore the implicit suggestion that she wouldn't have been present to say farewell to one of her consultants, Connie smiles and makes eye contact with Charlie. "Yes, well, of course I'm here," she says, unbuttoning her coat. "I've spent the day babysitting, otherwise I would have been in during the day."

Smiling, Charlie takes a step closer to Connie. It's noisy in the pub, and Connie's not certain that he's heard everything she said. Or maybe it's just the fact that he's getting older…

"How was your day?" His question confirms that, yes, he's missed her explanation of her day.

"It was fine, thanks," Connie responds. "When is Elle meant to get here?"

"Around seven, I think," Charlie adds, frowning slightly. "Where's Sam—oh, there he is. And Grace, too! What a pleasure. How's school, young lady?"

"Thanks, darling," Connie murmurs to Sam as he hands her a drink, their shoulders brushing. Social situations with her staff have never been at the top of Connie's to-do list; there's an element of awkwardness, a requirement to express feigned interest in the ins and outs of their everyday lives that she's never been overly fond of. One on one socialising, that's different. But a group outing is almost intimidating.

They make small talk for the next few minutes with Charlie and Duffy, with the occasional interruption from one of the other members of the ED staff, though Connie's eyes roam the crowd. It takes her a few moments to locate Drishti and Dylan, almost segmented in the corner of the room, and she smiles slightly at the sight of the pair of them. She's one of only two people in the room who knows that there's anything between the two of them – though she's certain that that will change momentarily, if it hasn't already.

"Sshh, she's here!" Noel shouts loudly – probably too loudly – from the window next to the door. "Act natural!" He continues as the door opens to reveal Elle and Jacob standing there.

"Well done, Noel," Max calls, his words causing a chorus of laughter around the pub. "Hey, Elle. Jacob. Fancy seeing you two here." His tone changes to sounding almost confused – a calculated play, in Connie's opinion.

"Hey, guys," Elle comments, a sad smile appearing on her lips. "Fancy seeing you all here…"

"Yeah, fancy that," Charlie joins in, raising his glass. "Well, how does it feel to be a free woman?"

"Exhausting," Elle admits, taking a step towards the rest of the team, and thus towards Connie. "Oh, hi Connie…didn't realise you come down to the pub…?"

There's a blush rising in Connie's cheeks, and she's not quite sure what to say. She opens her mouth, completely unsure as to which words will come out, when she's saved the trouble of speaking.

"Mum _always_ comes down to see people when they're leaving," Grace interrupts, a note of pride in her voice. "Have a good time in the country that you're going to. You're off to see Uncle Elliott, right?"

"I, er...thank you, Grace?" Elle replies, before turning to Connie and mouthing, "who is Elliott?"

"Right, Gracie, why don't you take your Dad to sit down?" Connie suggests, exchanging a glance with Sam who immediately nods. "I'll come across in a few minutes, promise." It's certainly a good idea to keep Sam away from Dylan who, despite coming to terms with Sam, probably would still cause an argument if Sam expressed the wrong opinion.

"So, are you—" Connie begins, but she's interrupted by Alicia Munroe and Ethan Hardy, who are standing at the centre of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the woman of the hour is finally here!" Alicia begins, a smile on her face. Absently, Connie notices the changes that she's noticed in the junior doctor's demeanour since her arrival in Holby a few years ago. She's grown into a more confident, self-assured doctor – and her patient manner has certainly improved, too. "Elle Gardner, get yourself up here! We didn't want you to leave without a reminder of the absolutely fabulous bunch of people you've had the opportunity to work with over the past few years, and so we got you _this_ as a token of our appreciation…"

Elle's smiling as she approaches the duo, and Connie has a stab of guilt at the fact that she's not been involved in the selection of this present. She's not even been asked for any money – though, knowing her staff, they'll probably foot her with the bill the next time that she's at work. Having said that, she does feel slightly guilty: maybe next time, she'll actively get involved in the selection of a gift for the departing colleague…

"Ah, guys," Elle says, biting her lip as she opens the present. Inside the silver-papered box is a set of personalised scrubs – where it would normally say _Holby City Hospital_ , it instead says _Elle Gardner: HBIC_. "I take it HBIC is a good thing?"

"The very best," Alicia clarifies, and there's an almost collective snort around the room.

After one, then two seconds of silence, Elle sniffles, wiping her eyes. "Guys, I don't deserve you all," she says slowly, turning as she speaks to make eye contact with everyone in the bar. "I've had the best time working at Holby City. It's had its ups and downs, but I wouldn't change anything for a second."

For a brief second, she makes eye contact with Connie, who smiles back and nods her head slightly. It's the closest thing she'll come to an admission that, perhaps, Elle's time at Holby would have been better if she had accepted her – though Connie would never admit that verbally, of course. After the drama of the post-crash year, their relationship settled, and Connie's aware that it'll be a struggle to find a replacement who even remotely matches up to Elle Gardner.

"And now, I've decided that we're going to have no more speeches," Elle continues, her voice wavering for a moment before recovering. "So I'm going to say, thank you all for coming, it's been a pleasure and you _all_ need to stay in touch…Now, have a nice night!"

Impulsively, Connie puts her hands together and claps. For a second, she's the only person clapping and she feels self-conscious – is this not what's done at a leaving do? It's awkward and painful and she doesn't want to be the centre of attention because she can feel _everyone_ staring at her right now, and she wants to stop as she searches for Sam's eyes among the crowd.

Until she finds him, and sees that he's clapping now. And Grace, and Charlie and Alicia and every single other person in the room. They're smiling and clapping and celebrating the time that they've spent working with Elle Gardner.

And for once, Connie's at the centre of the celebrations.

.

"Having fun, sweetheart?" Sam murmurs into Connie's ear as they stand at the side of the room, drinks in hand.

They've been here for a few minutes, just observing the social interactions before them. Half of the staff seem to be involved in some drinking game, the rules of which Sam tried and failed to explain properly, whilst the others are engaged in civilised conversation. It's nice, though, to feel as though she's part of the team. Most of the time it's inappropriate – but, for tonight, she feels that it's right to be here.

She's lost track of Grace – at some point, Robyn Miller took her away to meet Charlotte, and she hasn't come back yet. Connie's not worried, though; everyone here would look out for her daughter. They've been through enough together, and the department's been there for most of it, that they're all family, in some way or another. Some closer than others, of course, but they're all there for Grace. Just as they're all there for Connie, in some way or another.

"Mmm," Connie replies distractedly, though she smiles as Sam wraps his arm around her waist. Eighteen months ago, such a display in public would have been unacceptable for her – and yet now, she's more than happy for people to see her with someone. She's even happier that that someone is Sam Strachan.

"Now, I don't want to burst your bubble, but I _think_ that Max is about to go around that corner," Sam continues, his tone strangely competitive as he points towards the corridor nearest the games machines.

"And why will that burst my bubble, Mr Strachan?" Connie replies, intrigued.

"Because about five minutes ago, Drishti and Dylan disappeared down there," Sam explains. "And I'm sure that you mentioned something about your department's latest _bet_ …"

"Oh, it's not the latest," Connie replies off-hand, waving a hand in the air. "There's been about three since _that_ one. But I see what you mean."

It doesn't even take another thirty seconds for Max to shout something and emerge from the corridor, an expression of sheer amazement on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention for a moment," he calls, his voice just louder than the music and buzz of conversation. "But the results of the DBatz bet are in…unfortunately for you all, the house wins!"

"What?" Noel calls, outraged. "You mean Henrik's out of the running?"

Connie shoots an amused look at Sam, and whispers, "I might have had a hand in suggesting that one."

Before Max can explain _why_ Henrik is out of the running, an embarrassed Drishti and Dylan emerge from the corridor, hand in hand, and conversation in the room drops off entirely.

"Er, yes, er," Dylan begins, clearing his throat and failing to get more than a couple of words out of his mouth.

In a moment of strangely kin-like compassion, Connie decides to take the attention and heat off Dylan in the only way that she can think of.

Turning rapidly, she sets her drink down on the table and wraps her arms around Sam's neck, kissing him passionately. It's no different to how she'd kiss him at home, except for the fact that she has the attention of almost one hundred people.

"Go Mrs B!" Someone, Iain perhaps, calls loudly, which is followed by a cheer.

Blushing as she breaks away from Sam, Connie looks across the room to make eye contact with Dylan, who nods slowly, gratefully, for her intervention. She'll probably regret it in the morning – and for the subsequent hundred mornings that her staff decide to bring it up in the workplace – but, for now, she's glad to have helped in the only way she could think of.

It seems that, today, Connie's all about taking the pressure off her colleagues.

* * *

~x~

In the end for Elle Gardner, it's all about the final, quiet goodbyes that she whispers to a select few members of the team.

First it's Jacob, who promises that he'll be around the next morning to help her pack. He lets her go after a brief hug, in which they say all of the things that they've never needed to say out loud.

Then it's Charlie and Duffy. They remind her to keep in touch, and make sure she has their up to date phone numbers.

Finally, she stops at the table closest to the door, the one with Sam, Grace and Connie. They're engaged in a conversation about Grace's boyfriend, but Connie diverts her attention to the lone figure in black standing above Grace's head.

There's no need to say anything, but the one look exchanged between them says it all: goodbye and good luck for everything that's to come.

So, with a smile and a half-cry, Elle Gardner opens and closes the door to the Hope and Anchor for the last time and heads into the night, ready to start life afresh.

* * *

Thanks for reading, hopefully it was worth the long update!

Please let me know what you think!

I believe that there's one more chapter (and potentially an epilogue) left of this story, so if you have any suggestions about what I could move onto, writing wise, feel free to let me know!


	18. Reflections

Chapter Eighteen:

It's very late (apologies; postgrad life is intense!) but here is the final chapter of Facing the Future! It's been an absolute pleasure to write this, and I hope that you've enjoyed it as much as I have!

There'll still be an epilogue to come, and I plan on writing a series of related oneshots which tie into things that I mentioned in passing in this fic, but this will be the last ridiculously long chapter. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride of Connie and Sam, and continue to root for them as much as I do...

As always, please leave your thoughts at the end, along with any suggestions for fics that you'd like to see, and I'll do my best to reply!

* * *

For the first time in months, Connie Beauchamp wakes up before her first alarm. Eighteen months ago, she would have been ready and raring to go and bury her head in the sand at Holby City Hospital, desperate to forget about the failure that was her personal life. Now, contentment is the first word that springs to mind.

Looking to her left, Connie smiles slightly at the sight of a sleeping Sam Strachan. Even though she's woken up next to him almost every morning for over a year, it still awakens something in the pit of her stomach. Something that can't quite believe that this sweet, kind, passionate man lying next to her is hers. Something that clings onto him tightly, something that awakens the fire inside of her – for he's the first man she's ever wanted enough to fight for.

In the thirteen years since their initial tryst, he hasn't changed, not really. He's still alarmingly passionate and stubborn, still knows exactly how to rub her up the wrong way. He knows what he wants and he gets it.

In fairness, she hasn't really changed either, not in the ways that matter. She's well aware of her own flaws, and unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – the passing of time hasn't dulled them one iota. She's still Connie Beauchamp, queen of whatever department she's on.

The one thing that's changed for the pair of them is that they've been able to put aside their pride, at first long enough for them to get to know each other properly, and then on a more long term basis. They're fiercely competitive with one another still, but in a good way. There's no more competition as to whom is their daughter's favourite: whilst neither of them will officially acknowledge that the first ten years of Grace's life were unnecessarily problematic because of their actions, there's a tacit implication in their determination to make this work that means they will _never_ go back to those dark days. Instead, they're concentrating on facing the future – together.

And now, no matter what happens in her work life, Connie knows that she can come home to a loving, supportive, caring environment. She could quit her job and she wouldn't be made to feel like a failure. Not that she has any plans to quit her role, of course. The day that Connie Beauchamp walks out of a position when she's on the precipice of achieving true greatness is a day that will never happen.

"Hey," Sam says quietly, a smile in his voice, and Connie's jolted slightly to realise that Sam's awake. "Since when do you wake up before your alarm?"

There's a slight blush that rises in Connie's cheeks – after all, how long has he been watching her watch him? – as she rolls over towards him, a smile on her lips.

"The real question is how long have I needed five alarms?" Connie retorts, pushing her hair out of her face. "The answer to that, Mr Strachan, is since you started sharing my bed. You truly are a bad influence."

Sam lifts an eyebrow as he leans up towards Connie, pressing his lips gently against the underside of her jaw. "Why, Mrs Beauchamp, you make that sound as if it's a _bad_ thing," he murmurs against her skin, his hand entangled within her hair. "Though you are a particularly adept student. Kissing me in the middle of the pub surrounded by your team – that's certainly something taken straight out of my book."

Blushing more deeply, Connie gently traces the lines of Sam's chest, averting her eyes. Whilst she's glad that she managed to take the heat off of her colleague, looking back she's certain that there would have been a much less…embarrassing manner in which to do so. Though nobody has said anything to her face in the two days subsequent to Elle's leaving party, Connie's certain that her actions have been the reason for the smirks on almost every member of staff's face whenever she turns a corner.

Well, she mentally amends, _their_ actions. Because whilst she had initiated the kiss, Sam certainly hadn't held back.

"Oh, so you're the teacher now, are you?" Connie replies, snorting a little. "That's not quite how I would see it."

This time, Sam's other eyebrow lifts, and the smirk on his lips widens. "Is that a challenge I hear?"

Without deigning to respond, Connie leans across and kisses him deeply, all thoughts of competition and flirting giving way to almost unbridled lust. Even now, his kisses make her head spin, and it's almost as if they're floating on a cloud when they break apart. She's certainly not on planet earth, anyway. It's as if every time they kiss, she becomes a celestial being – and that's certainly not something she'd ever turn down.

It takes a moment for the strange ringing in her ears to make sense to Connie as being her alarm. With a groan, she rolls over to her side of the bed to press snooze on her phone, only to see that it's alarm number five.

"Even when we wake up early, we still need five alarms," Connie grumbles, but she doesn't mean it. Secretly, she's glad that they woke up early – because they're both well aware that there's another forty minutes before they _have_ to get up.

And that's forty minutes that she intends to use wisely.

* * *

~x~

"Morning," Drishti Batra says with as breezy a voice as possible as she walks over to the gaggle of junior doctors standing around the work station at eight thirty in the morning. "Have a good day off, Ethan?" She directs this second part more specifically to Ethan Hardy, who looks up as soon as he hears his name.

"Sorry? Er, yes, sorry, yes I did," he replies, babbling a little. Smiling a little as he meets Drishti's gaze, he drops his pen. "How about you? Oh, yeah, sorry I just realised you were on call yesterday, weren't you?"

"Yep," Drishti affirms, dropping a rather thick file into the 'dealt with' tray. Or, rather, onto. "Man, Mrs B's slacking with her paperwork at the minute, isn't she? She's normally on fire…"

Snorting a little, Ethan nods. "Well, she was meant to be here at seven to do paperwork, but nobody's seen her…" Pushing his glasses up his nose, he continues, "I, er, how are you? Outside of being on call, that is."

Somewhere inside, Drishti gets the sneaking feeling that he's probing her for information about her relationship – or whatever it is – with Dylan. Where she would be irritated, had anyone else asked, there's just something about Ethan Hardy that leaves her unable to get annoyed. Even if he is mining for information for the rest of the team, she'll let him off.

"Good, thanks," she replies in the same breezy tone – or as breezy as a Highlands Scottish accent can be. "Watched a nice film last night and even had Chinese. Did you know that the Chinese down here doesn't even do deep fried mars bars? I mean, can you imagine?"

Ethan gives a half-laugh. "Well, yes I can actually," he replies. "I hadn't realised that deep fried mars bars were such a delicacy up north." Leaning in closer, he almost whispers, "how do they make them? Do they taste nice?"

Laughing a little, Drishti nods. Who knew it would only take mentioning deep fried mars bars to distract Ethan from his quest to dig into her personal life? "They're not bad, to be honest," she admits. "You just cover them in batter and then stick them in the deep fat fryer. Eat too many and you'll end up in here as a patient though, Doctor Hardy." There's a vague warning in her voice, though once again it's diluted by her accent – something made clear by the fact that Ethan laughs. Which absolutely was not her intention.

"Good point," Ethan agrees, closing and then reopening his mouth.

Sensing that this is the moment at which he's going to more directly ask her about Dylan, Drishti takes the initiative to end the conversation.

"Well, the patients aren't going to treat themselves!" Drishti comments, lifting her empty hands into the air, palms facing Ethan. "Best go and get myself another before Mrs B comes in to see that I'm doing nothing! Catch you later?"

Before he can reply, she's disappeared from the centre of the work station and is halfway around the corner. Her interest piqued, she leans around the pillar nearest the central computers, so that she can see the workstation but the team members standing there can't see her.

Unsurprisingly, within seconds Alicia and Max are standing next to Ethan, their heads close enough to suggest plotting and collusion to Drishti. Nobody stands that close on a day-to-day, working basis. Nobody.

After a few seconds of watching her three colleagues, Drishti gets an uncomfortable feeling that there's somebody behind her, with their gaze trained intently on her.

Rightly enough, she turns around to see Mrs Beauchamp standing there, a mildly amused expression on her face. It's certainly a strange expression to see on the face of the Clinical Lead – usually, Mrs Beauchamp is the most productive person in the department, and expects the rest of the team to follow closely behind her.

Perhaps it's the fact that she's turned up to work an hour and a half later than scheduled that has left the older, wiser woman more lenient than she would perhaps normally be.

"Doctor Batra," Connie begins, even her tone not as clipped as normal. "Perhaps we could save the playground spying on our colleagues until our breaktime? I'm fairly sure I saw a fair few teenagers in fancy dress in my waiting room – if the freshers could be _out_ of there by the time I come out of my office, that would be appreciated."

Nodding slightly, Drishti straightens her back and just about avoids eye contact with her mentor. They've not worked together in the period since Connie created a diversion in the pub to take the pressure off of her and Dylan, and she's not entirely sure if it's appropriate to mention it – at all, let alone on the department floor.

"No problem, Mrs Beauchamp," she replies, biting her lip. "Erm, about the other night…" She trails off as Connie lifts a hand into the air, effectively silencing the registrar.

"Let's forget about it," Connie suggests, her tone brisk. "It didn't happen. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Then go and get yourself a patient, Doctor Batra."

"Aye, aye, captain." Miming a sailor's salute, Drishti speeds off to the front reception, and wonders if she'll ever be able to look her mentor in the eye again.

* * *

~x~

"So it's Doctor Chao, _consultant_ , now," Iain Dean comments with a smile, his attention focused singularly on Lily Chao. "What a surprise. Who would have thought…"

There's a coy smile on Lily's lips as she raises her eyebrows slightly at the paramedic stood on the other side of the workstation to her. "I mean we didn't spend a full week of evenings pretending that you were the interview panel _at all_ ," she replies, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. It's diluted, however, by the more than slightly adoring expression on her face as she meets Iain's gaze. "Thank you, Iain."

Iain's expression becomes perplexed. "I, er, you're welcome?" His brow furrows before he continues, "Wait. _What_ did I do?"

Lily laughs, her hand reaching out and resting gently on Iain's forearm. "For helping me with the preparation, of course!" The laughter fades from her expression, replaced instead by a form of sincere gratitude. "You really didn't have to."

"I did," Iain insists, leaning in closer over the workstation. "Because you're my girlfriend. Plus, I wanted to. Now I get to go around and tell people that I'm dating a consultant."

"A kickboxing consultant," Lily amends. "Don't forget to add _that_ to your description of me."

"An intelligent, beautiful, gorgeous kickboxing consultant," Iain proposes, before reaching across and pressing his lips gently to Lily's for half a heartbeat. "Whoops, did I just kiss you? Despite your no PDA at work rule? Guess I'll just have to make it up to you later…"

Smiling despite herself, Lily pushes away from the workstation and picks her file up again. "I'll be holding you to that."

"I hope you do."

* * *

~x~

As she sits behind her desk sipping a too-strong, barely lukewarm coffee which tastes more like Sam's than hers, Connie finds herself twiddling her thumbs. Well, not literally; she doubts that anybody in the history of the western world has actively twiddled their thumbs – or even realised that they're doing it.

However, her email inbox is clear of all but a few minor issues, her records are in order, and there are no major schemes that the government is trying to introduce – today, anyway. There's a slight backlog of paperwork out on the department, something made all the more noticeable by her late arrival today, but she can put that off to this afternoon, for her training session with her newest consultant. It's certainly not a backlog comparable to the current situation on Darwin – where neither Sam or Jac seem to be able to get the mountains of files in the corner of their office to a manageable height.

For the first time since her arrival in the Emergency Department, Connie feels as if there's nothing for her to do. Not as Clinical Lead, anyway. There's always a patient to treat, another breach of the four hour rule to avoid, but nothing specifically for her rank. Soon, there'll be another fight over staffing, a chance for her to bring out her scathing words and promote the case for greater funding for her department. But, today, she can set her boxing gloves aside and just breathe. Just take it all in.

She's been the queen of dozens of departments, sometimes a failure but always remarkable. Sometimes she's been deposed and sometimes she's stepped aside, but an impression she has always made. Yet down here, she's never been more on top of her game. Things are going well – better than well, actually. Patient care is as good as it's ever been, and the department is cohesive and strong.

Normally, this is the moment at which Connie Beauchamp starts to seek out another challenge. She doesn't like to rest on her laurels long, even when she's at the top. That's probably been something to do with why she's never managed to build a sustained relationship with her team as a collective whole – she's always moved onto the next task, the next big goal, without giving the rest of them a chance to breathe. Without giving herself a chance to breathe.

But now, this month, she wants to take a step back. To spend a week or two just _living_. To separate her work and her personal lives more than she has in months (or ever), and just relax. She wants to go home and spend an evening watching pointless television shows just to laugh; she wants to be forced to watch the Jason Bourne films because she knows that Sam loves them (and deep down, she's not as opposed to them as she would vocalise). She wants to give Grace one hundred percent of her attention and not ninety-five, which is usually the case because she can never _quite_ manage to switch off from work entirely.

Interrupting her reverie is a knock at the door. Charlie.

She waves him in, and she notices that his expression is apologetic.

"What can I do for you, Charlie?" Her voice is as warm as it ever is, and Connie wonders idly about when she was last sharp with someone at work. It's been a good few weeks, since the inspection – a personal record. She wouldn't be surprised if her team have bets on how long her good mood will last.

"Sorry to interrupt, you looked…thoughtful," Charlie replies, as ever unable to directly answer her question. "Duncan Sinclair phoned for you, said there was no answer on your office phone. He said to let you know that Mr Hanssen would be down at some point during the day, but that you weren't to make a special effort to make the department look nice. It sounded like something that Henrik would say, anyway."

A half smile forms on Connie's lips as she sets her now cold coffee down on the desk. It was definitely Sam's, she's decided; he must have taken hers by accident.

"Well, we can't have Mr Hanssen assuming that we only perform well for inspectors," Connie replies, standing up and reaching across her desk for her stethoscope. "I'll be out in a moment, Charlie. Thank you."

And so her moment of peace ends, and the usual cacophony of babies crying and patients shouting fills Connie's ears.

But she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

~x~

"You know, if you were to suggest that I swap places with Connie for the day, I'd be more than willing to listen to your sage counsel and take it as my own idea," Jac Naylor comments without a hint of irony in her voice. Well, perhaps a little. "I mean, it's the Emergency Department. How hard could it be?"

Across the room, Sam looks up from the stack of paperwork closest to him, and shakes his head wearily. It's only ten in the morning, and yet it feels like midnight: paperwork has never been his favourite part of work, despite what Connie might say, and at the moment it seems to be drowning the pair of them.

Somehow in the last month and a half, the Darwin consultants' office has ended up being less an office and more of a swamp of half-finished (or completely neglected) piles of paperwork. Sam's holiday was followed swiftly by Jac's, which in turn was followed by a period of extended sickness for one registrar and a necessary period of holiday for the other. Together, these things resulted in all available staff spending nearly all of their time in theatre or ordering tests or, in the case of Jac, attending meetings, which was all well and good at the time, but has now resulted in a situation of dire, unbridled chaos.

"You'd last about five minutes down there, Jac," Sam replies honestly, dropping his pen onto the file in front of him. Arching his back out, he decides mentally to drag this conversation out for as long as possible in order to delay the return to paperwork. "You'd be eaten alive, and that's just by the staff."

Raising an eyebrow, Jac fixes Sam with one of her piercing stares. He's never been scared of her – after all, once upon a time he was, in effect, her boss – but he can see why others are. And that he would have been, if they hadn't worked together for as long as they have.

"Sam," she says his name simply, the singular word filled with disbelief. " _You_ managed to work down there for six or seven months. If you can, anyone can, let's be fair. It's just broken limbs and sniffling babies and the _occasional_ interesting case."

Sam laughs. "If Con heard you say that, you'd need an ED yourself – and not to work in," he replies casually, folding his hands behind his head. "Believe me, it's harder than it looks. A _lot_ harder. I don't know how Con does it so well."

"Well, she's on the top of her game," Jac admits, dropping her own pen. "Henrik just keeps raving about the success of the ED, and how we all need to emulate Connie's success in our own way. Before then, in the same breath, going on to berate us all for not working hard enough. I'm on the verge of just not turning up to the meetings anymore; we might as well have him on repeat."

Sam smiles a half-smile. He's heard Connie's version of these events, too; but in her version, rather than berating all the other departments, Hanssen comments on what wonder Connie will produce next. Which, in her mind, is a lot more stressful than being told that you're not good enough. Sam's not entirely sure that he agrees, but that's certainly not an opinion that he's going to disclose to his rather formidable partner.

"Well, I guess you could learn a thing or two from her," Sam comments without thinking, his mind distracted by Connie Beauchamp. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind giving you some pointers."

The tense silence which follows for a few seconds tells Sam immediately that he's said the wrong thing. _Damnit_ , he thinks; you'd think that living with two extremely headstrong women would have given him some sense of what's appropriate to say and what should be best avoided, but clearly he's fallen into his usual trap of offend the strong woman. Who, in this situation, just happens to be his boss.

"I do not need," Jac begins, her jaw clenched, "pointers from _Connie Beauchamp_. She gave me enough when she was here for the CoE shenanigans. And she does a presentation every other week in our meetings! If you're not going to suggest anything sensible, then don't say anything at all."

Deep down, Sam knows that it's just the stress of the paperwork getting to Jac. Whilst he wouldn't quite call her a friend, at least not to her face – lord only knows that she's barely managed to make it to 'friend' status with Connie, and that was after four solid months of working together – they're certainly on good terms. Good enough for her to vent about her latest relationship problem to him, anyway. Either that, or he's turned into her agony aunt without realising it.

"All I mean is…maybe just have a chat with her, get her to say something unwittingly that you think can be a bigshot idea, turn it into one, and then pass it onto Hanssen," Sam continues, trying to claw his way out of the hole he's in. "Then boom, you've actually gotten yourself access to her wisdom, but nobody is any the wiser. Other than you, of course."

He looks up cautiously to see an almost amused expression on Jac's face.

"You really are her number one fanboy aren't you, Sam?" Jac laughs, smiling a little. "I mean, it's cute and everything, but man, you are _whipped_!"

"If there's one thing I'm not, Jac, it's whipped," Sam replies curtly, despite knowing deep down that he's more than a little whipped. "I just care about her, and respect her abilities. That doesn't make me whipped."

"Whatever you say," Jac responds, her voice flippant. "Is it serious, then?"

With a look of disbelief on his face, Sam retorts, "well, I've been living with her for a year and a bit, we have a child together, and she managed to show her affection in _public_ , so yes, I think it's safe to say that it's _serious_ , Jac." After a brief pause, he continues, "why, anyway? Got a bet on how long you think we're going to last?"

" _Actually_ ," Jac begins, her voice ice-cold, "I was asking because, surprisingly, I care about the two of you. As _friends_. And, shocking I know, I want to know that you're both happy."

There's a pause for a second or two before Sam responds, "I think I need a hearing test. Did you just say that you _care_ about us?"

"Must be the paperwork delirium I'm in," Jac says, her voice barely more than a mumble. "But yes, I do."

"It's as serious as I could ever imagine it being," Sam admits, leaning forwards to an upright position in his chair. "I can't fathom the idea of being with anyone else, ever."

There's a sudden change in Jac's demeanour as she leans forwards, a cheeky grin on her face. "So…does that mean that there's wedding bells in the air?"

Sam laughs. "Being serious doesn't equate to marriage, Jac," he replies, shaking his head. "Nah. Con's obviously been married before, and I'm not fussed. If it happens, it happens. But it's not on the cards."

"Damnit," Jac says, picking up her pen. "I had a fiver on a proposal by Christmas. Oh well. Anyway, best get back to it, unless you actually do think that we could get Connie up here, drug her and then get her to do all our paperwork?"

"I'll ask her tonight," Sam promises.

"Good," Jac replies. "Oh, and if you ever mention to anyone that I _care_ , you'll be on paperwork and catheter duty for the rest of your time here. Understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

~x~

"Ah, Mrs Beauchamp, finally I've found you!"

A voice behind Connie startles her slightly, and she turns from the workstation to see Henrik Hanssen, as tall as ever, looming over her.

"Strange," Connie begins, a small smile on her lips, "I hadn't realised I was missing. What can I do for you, Henrik?"

"A chat in your office would be most lovely," Henrik replies, a hint of sarcasm present in his voice as ever. "If, of course, you have the time for me. I understand that the ED can be _so_ busy."

Fixing him with a stare, Connie says, "of course it's busy. You can have ten minutes."

Swiftly, Connie passes by Henrik and walks towards her office, more than a little pleased to hear that he follows behind without comment. Holding the door open for him, she waits until he has passed through into her office before closing it gently.

"So, what exactly _is_ the next big plan?" Henrik asks, immediately getting down to business. It's appreciated by Connie, as always; she's never been a fan of small talk, especially when it's taking her away from her department.

"I'm sorry, Henrik, I don't follow," Connie replies slowly, taking a seat on her side of the desk. "Big plan?"

Rolling his eyes, Henrik leans back in his chair. "Let's stop with the games, Connie. You _always_ have a big plan, one that you usually roll out to make you look outstanding. Which, now, you don't need to do. So what is it?"

Pressing her hands together, Connie shakes her head. "I don't have one."

"Liar." Henrik snorts. "I know you, Connie, better than almost anyone. You can't seriously be trying to pretend that you don't have a plan, a next step on how to improve this place."

"I'm telling you, Henrik, I don't have one," Connie admits. "Take a look around the department. Of course there are things to improve – there are always things to improve. But there's nothing, at least not at the moment, which warrants a big plan. It's minor things which can be resolved within the department. I'm truly content with the state that the department is in, and I don't see the need to waste my time on a scheme which would have a negligible impact."

Staring at her, Henrik is silent for almost a minute before he replies. "Truly? I have to admit, I'm a little relieved, Connie. You were starting to make the other departments look bad!"

"Starting to?" Connie retorts, laughing a little. "I'll let you know if I have any ideas, Henrik, but until then, there's no need to worry."

"And what of your future?" Henrik pushes. "You've achieved what you wanted to achieve. Is it not time for you to consider moving back to Darwin?"

Sighing, Connie takes a few moments to compose herself before replying. "Truthfully? Yes," she admits. "But not quite yet. I'm happy down here, and I'm happy with the team around me. There are some other things I'd like to fix – and I'd like to bask in the glory of an outstanding department. When I'm ready to move back to surgery, I'll make sure you're the first to know." Smiling a little, she corrects herself, "well, second."

"Second?" Henrik questions.

"Well, I suppose I ought to let Sam know first," Connie explains, her attention drifting towards Sam Strachan. Of course she wants to return to surgery. But she'll only do it if it doesn't interrupt his career, doesn't impede his opportunities for progression. Only if they can both succeed together is she interested.

"Very true," Henrik replies, laughing. "And on that note, I will be off. _Do_ make sure to let me know if any grand schemes pop into your mind though, Connie. I do like to be kept in the loop."

"I will," Connie promises. "Good day, Henrik."

Standing up slowly, Henrik's halfway to the door when he turns around and says, "I must admit, Connie, I am extremely impressed with your department. You should be very proud, it truly is outstanding."

"Thank you, Henrik. I'll be sure to share that with the team."

As she watches Hanssen leave her office, Connie leans back in her chair, ostensibly staring at the door and in reality not seeing anything. She's elated, too excited to focus on anything in particular. She's never quite managed to receive praise like that from Hanssen – and it means more to her than it probably ought to.

It also feels good to have finally admitted that it's time for her to return to surgery. Not quite yet, of course, but she can see herself returning to her specialism before Grace leaves for university. Probably before she's even started her GCSEs, if she's honest.

But that's a conversation for another day, and so Connie pushes herself to her feet, picks up her stethoscope and heads out for another day on the floor of the best ED in the country. _Her_ ED.

* * *

~x~

"Connie, have you got a minute?"

Turning around, once again from the workstation, Connie gets a strange sense of déjà vu when she hears someone calling her. This time, however, it's Dylan Keogh – someone she certainly hadn't expected to approach her today.

"Of course," she replies, half-distractedly. "Is it private, or…?"

"Your office?" Dylan suggests, discreetly nodding his head towards the forming gaggle of staff on the other side of the workstation.

"Absolutely," Connie agrees, turning back to face the congregation of doctors and nurses. "Doctor Munroe, as you've clearly nothing to do, take my patient. And take Nurse Tyler with you."

Within a minute, Dylan's seated opposite Connie, the door is closed, and the room is silent in anticipation of a conversation Connie probably doesn't want to have.

"So are we hitting the most important KPIs?" Dylan breaks the silence, and his question is so ludicrous that it causes Connie to burst out into laughter.

"You've not seriously dragged me into my office to discuss _key performance indicators_ , have you?" Connie asks, her tone incredulous. "Let's cut to the chase, Dylan, so we can both get on with our days."

Clearing his throat, Dylan averts his gaze from Connie's, instead preferring to look at the floor by his feet.

"I just wanted to say…I appreciate…the other night," Dylan murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You didn't have to do it, and it certainly…took the pressure off."

Blushing a little, Connie's glad that she doesn't have to make uncomfortable eye contact with Dylan. "Yes, well, let's agree not to discuss it again, shall we?" She suggests, shifting slightly in her chair. "Though, as we're already in here, why don't we have a discussion about your career progression?"

Frowning slightly, Dylan looks up from the floor; he doesn't quite make eye contact, but his eyeline is more level with the desk than the ground.

"I, well, we only discussed it the other day, didn't we?"

Connie rolls her eyes. "Part of having a career progression plan, Dylan, is to make sure that you check in with it frequently. I take it you haven't booked yourself onto the courses that I recommended?"

This time, it's Dylan who shifts in his chair uncomfortably. "Um, well, no, not yet…I was going to…soon. When I…get internet on the boat, anyway, which could be another few weeks."

Heaving a deep breath, Connie counts to ten before replying. "Dylan. Are you saying you'd like _me_ to book you onto the courses?" She really hopes that that's what he's hinting at, because if he isn't, she has absolutely no idea what he's rambling on about.

"Well, if you're offering, I certainly wouldn't turn that down," Dylan replies, a small smile on his lips. "What's with the sudden push though, Connie? A couple of months ago, you were very much of the longue durée approach. Now it seems more like blitzkrieg."

Completely unsure as to how much to give away – or to even hint at, given she's not entirely sure of the situation herself – Connie hesitates before she says, "This is by no means gospel, but there's a distinct _possibility_ that there may be a Clinical Lead vacancy in this department within the next year or two. Therefore I would suggest being qualified and prepared for the position in the near future, so as to be prepared for the…potential vacancy."

Dylan looks up and meets Connie's gaze, and it's clear in this momentary period of eye contact that he understands exactly what she's hinting at.

"Well, yes absolutely," he replies, brusque in his usual manner. Then, more softly, he adds, "It'll be a hard kingdom to compete with, Connie. I've certainly never seen an ED as well organised as yours."

A small, involuntary smile slips onto Connie's lips. "You're not rid of me yet," she warns, her voice trying and failing to be harsh. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, of course. Discretion is of the utmost importance."

Somewhere deep inside, Connie recognises that her choice of words is a mistake, that she almost deserves the surprising quip Dylan returns with.

"Of the utmost importance?" Dylan scoffs. "Certainly didn't seem that way last night, Connie. Fancy the Clinical Lead being a fan of PDA…"

Fixing him with as stern an expression as she can muster, Connie retorts, "leave my office now, or you won't like the consequences."

* * *

~x~

Having approached the workstation when it was empty, Connie is surprised to look up from her patient file to suddenly see three members of her team standing around her, their gaze centred solely on her.

"Haven't you got patients to treat?" She asks distractedly, not really focusing on their response.

"No," Louise begins, her tone bordering on the verge of disrespectful.

This gets Connie's attention. Looking up, she opens her mouth to speak before Alicia quickly interjects.

"What Louise _means_ to say," Alicia begins, shooting Louise an almost horrified glance, "is that we're all on our breaks. So it's legit that we're not treating anyone. And we've even covered over our uniforms so nobody gets the wrong impression, Mrs B, we are all over this."

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Connie says, "so why are you all here then?" All she's hoping is that it isn't regarding the incident in the pub the other night – but, knowing her team, she doesn't hold out much hope. "To save us all time, how about you just tell me outright what the bet is, and I'll decide if I'm going to give you an answer?"

"Mrs Beauchamp, I am _horrified_ that your mind would jump straight to a bet," Max Walker replies, sounding outraged. "Though, of course, you're right. You're always right."

This time, Connie doesn't resist the urge. "I'm waiting."

"When's the wedding? Your wedding, I mean."

Connie's floored. In all honesty, she expected a question about the future of the department – or, rather, her future within it – not a question about the chance of her ever marrying again. She can feel her face flushing, and averts her gaze from the three members of the team around her.

"There is no wedding," she replies, keeping her voice even. Though she knows that they'll push her, there's absolutely no need for her staff to get even a hint about her previous marital experience, and she's giving them absolutely no further ammunition to think that they have a right to know about her personal life. "And, if I get my way, there'll never be one. So I'd highly recommend cancelling the bet."

Looking up, Connie sees a defeated expression on Max's face. She can't tell if it's a ruse or if he genuinely has given up on the bet, so she continues.

"I'm serious. If I hear even a whiff of _any_ of you taking bets on a fictitious wedding, I'll have you called up before a tribunal faster than you can blink," Connie presses, her tone becoming increasingly firm. "Am I understood?"

"Yes, Mrs Beauchamp," Louise and Alicia chorus in near-unison.

"Whilst we're here though, Mrs B…" Max presses on, ignoring Connie's request. "Would you be interested in participating in one of my other bets?"

Unable to stop herself, Connie smiles. "Just to clarify, are you employed as a porter or as a bookmaker in this hospital?"

"A porter," Max confirms. "Being a bookie is just an extra bit of fun. So you're interested, yeah?"

Impulsively, Connie says, "dependent on what the bets are, of course…"

There's a collective gasp from the three members of her team standing in front of her and from the stunned expression on Max Walker's face, it's clear that even he wasn't expecting an affirmative answer.

Silence reigns for a full minute before Connie decides to put her staff out of their misery. "Last time I checked, it's rather hard to place a bet when you're unaware of what the bet is _on_ ," she continues, smirking a little.

"I, er, yes, well I didn't expect you to agree," Max admits, perking up a little with every word. "So we've currently got bets on…the next time that Noel turns up wearing the old uniform, the location of the Christmas party, and when Alicia and Ethan are going to tie the knot…"

"You _what_?" Alicia interjects. "Max Walker, if you don't cancel that bet, I swear to God I will…"

"Relax," Max replies, laughing. "Do you really think I'd let you know that we're betting on it? Nah, Mrs B's love life is the only thing we bet on round here – not, of course, that there's currently a bet on it."

"Or ever will be again." Connie's tone is firm, though she knows that there's no point flogging a dead horse. Her team will continue to bet on her, and she'll continue to get mad until she's blue in the face.

"Any of them take your interest, Mrs B?"

"I, well, I bet five pounds that the location of the Christmas party will be…Saxon's."

Connie is the one who books the Christmas party every year, but there's no need to tell her team that.

"So do you have the five pounds to give me?" Max asks, placing his hand out palm up. "As that's the way it works, Mrs B. You give me the money now, I write it down in my ledger, and then when the Christmas party signs go up, the winner gets their earnings. Does that make sense?"

Connie wonders what Max Walker is doing as a porter, when he could clearly be a master bookmaker.

"Sounds brilliant," she replies, reaching into her pocket and extracting a five pound note. "Is that everything? As it may have escaped your attention, but there _are_ patients waiting to be seen…"

"Nice display the other night," Louise blurts out, giggling slightly, whilst Alicia and Max stand there, their expressions shocked.

Connie can feel her cheeks flaring up, and she tactfully looks away towards her office for a couple of seconds. Composing herself, she gathers together her best approximation of her Ice Queen persona, turning to shoot a glare in Louise Tyler's direction.

"Last time I checked, Nurse Tyler, there was a rule against gossiping about personal information in the workplace," Connie comments coldly. "Let me make it abundantly clear: if you wish to talk about my personal life, you will face a tribunal for inappropriate work etiquette. Do I make myself clear?"

Without waiting for a response, Connie turns and walks away from the workstation, making a mental note to book the Christmas party at Saxon's… If she's going to gamble at work, she might as well get something out of it.

* * *

~x~

It's a hectic day as always in the Holby City Emergency Department, but at the end of it, she always gets to see a familiar face.

"Hey beautiful," Sam says in greeting as he rounds the slightly open door. "Had a good day?"

Looking up from organising a pile of paperwork, Connie smiles, pushing stray strands of hair out of her face. "Not bad, thank you, sweetheart," she replies, meeting Sam's gaze. "How was yours? I hear that the department's still drowning in paperwork…"

Groaning, Sam closes the door before approaching to press a gentle kiss to Connie's lips, tangling his hand in her hair. "Don't even get me started," he groans. "Jac's latest suggestion is to come down here and run the ED for you whilst you sort out the paperwork for us."

Smirking, Connie pulls away from Sam's embrace slowly, turning off her computer in preparation for leaving. "I mean, I'm perfectly amiable to the suggestion," she begins, hearing a hint of flirtation entering her own voice. "It just depends on what favours you're going to do _me_."

"Well, I can think of a few," Sam continues, his voice equally sultry. "And all I can say is that you _won't_ be disappointed."

"We'll see," Connie promises. "We can try and hint at something with Max, see if he'll arrange a bet on whether or not I'll go upstairs and support or something. Then we'll win."

There's a momentary pause during which Sam stares at Connie, his expression confused, before suddenly he laughs. "Mrs Beauchamp, have you become a gambling addict?"

Blushing, Connie shrugs. "Max persuaded me to place a bet on where the Christmas party will be. And I backed Saxon's."

"But… _you_ book the Christmas party…"

"I know," Connie replies, proudly. "And I've booked it already. But he doesn't need to know that. And it distracted him from the bet he apparently had on our theoretical wedding in the future."

Flopping down in the guest chair in front of Connie's desk, Sam nods. "Yeah, Jac mentioned something about that earlier," he replies, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sure they'll move onto someone else soon – didn't two of your registrars move in together, or something?"

"True," Connie admits, fastening the buttons on her coat. "Right, are you ready to go? I'm desperate for dinner."

Flicking the lights out, Connie exits her office, swiftly followed by Sam. As soon as they're through the door, Sam wraps his arm around Connie's waist. It's a display of affection which, a year and a half ago, would have been completely unacceptable to Connie – now, it's a normal part of her day. She can't remember the last time that they didn't walk out of work together, and she knows that she'll miss it, should they one day end up in different hospitals again.

"Oh I forgot to say, Grace said that she's going to Hannah's for dinner," Sam says as they walk through the ED towards the car park. "I said that she has to be home for eight, but I guess we could go for dinner before that?"

"Or," Connie replies, a secret smile on her lips as she makes eye contact with Sam. "We go home, have some chocolate, and you start persuading me to help you with your little paperwork conundrum." There's nothing implicit or subtle about her words, and once again, this is a sentence that Connie Beauchamp wouldn't have dreamed of saying even a year ago.

Sam Strachan has changed her. Or, more accurately, opening her heart up to the potential of happiness has changed her, though not unrecognisably.

"You drive a hard bargain, Con," Sam replies, laughing as he tightens his grip on her waist. "But I suppose I can get behind that."

The sky's dusky pink as they exit the ED together, and Connie's grateful for Sam's warmth as they head towards her car. It's just a normal Tuesday evening as they head across the car park, the all too familiar sound of sirens filling the area around them.

But, in a way, it's this ordinary evening that's symbolic of their relationship. It's the day-in, day-out activities and routines that have become entrenched in their household which are the true testament of their relationship. It's the waking up at five am just so that they can spend time together before work, their insistence and determination to do things as a couple even when time's against them, their genuine desire to spend time together, that have led to them lasting the course. Because before, they looked to the future alone. And now…now they're facing the future together.

And Connie wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Don't forget, the epilogue will be on its way at some point soon!


	19. Epilogue

_Three years later…_

"Mum, hurry up! We're going to be _late_!" Grace Beauchamp calls from the bottom of the stairs of the Beauchamp-Strachan household. After a couple of seconds she adds, "well, we can be late if you want to. But I don't think that Dad would like that…"

With a half-smile and a flippant roll of her eyes, Connie emerges at the top of the landing, a sight to behold in cream and gold. The colour sets off her skin tone to perfection, and her hair, twisted into a plaited bun, gently rests on her shoulders.

"I'm ready now, Gracie," Connie promises, lifting the skirts of her dress as she begins to descend down the stairs. "I've got another trait to add to your careers list: the queen of time management. Not to mention that you're the _bossy_ Beauchamp."

"Not now, Mum," Grace replies, though with a smile in her voice. "We're waiting for Uncle Elliott to finish in the toilet, then he's got to work out how to put his tie on, and then we're going to go _but_ we're definitely going to be late because there's always traffic at this time of day and…"

Gently, Connie places her hands on her daughter's shoulders and smiles, making eye contact with Grace. "Sweetheart. It's going to be fine. It's normal for the bride to be late anyway, and your Dad _knows_ that Uncle Elliott adds at least another ten minutes to any journey." Laughing briefly, Connie lets go of Grace's shoulders and picks up the bouquet on the hallway table. "Come on, let's take the ridiculous selfie that I _know_ you want to take whilst we wait, and then we'll be sorted."

This mollifies Grace and, five minutes later, they've taken approximately ten different photos – each with a different, albeit completely random, filter which Grace insists is essential – and they're stood waiting for Elliott – "I'll be two minutes, I promise!" – to go to the church.

Breaking the silence, Grace makes eye contact with her mother, arching her back so that they're almost at the same height. Connie constantly marvels at how mature her daughter has become – only fifteen, it wouldn't surprise her if Grace managed to get into some of the nightclubs.

"Before we go," Grace begins, a slight quake in her voice. "Years ago, when you first got together again, you and Dad both promised that you'd only ever make each other happy. So…are you sure that you want to do this? And you're not just doing this for me?"

It takes Connie a second or two to process what Grace says, her brain almost shutting down at the prospect of thinking whether or not she wants to do this. Surprisingly, she's not had any pre-wedding jitters, which she had thought was a good thing. Marrying Sam Strachan had never been at the top of her list of priorities, but once they agreed that they both wanted to do it, she had never waivered.

And even now, with the prospect of a final, final get-out clause offered up by the most mature adolescent Connie could dream of knowing, the answer can't change. There's a warmth in her stomach as she thinks of the prospect of seeing Sam Strachan again – for almost a day a part has felt like a lifetime.

"I appreciate your thought, sweetheart, really I do," Connie begins gently, offering Grace a small smile. "But I've not been as sure of anything in a long time."

"Even going back to cardio medicine stuff?"

Connie snorts. "Even more than going back to cardiothoracics," Connie confirms, her mind slipping back to the day, eighteen months ago, when she had returned to Darwin. Not as Clinical Lead, which had been surprising, but rather as Medical Director who happened to work on the cardio ward. It had been a good day, admittedly, but it had also been a heartwrenching decision to leave behind the team which had become part of her family on the ground floor of Holby City Hospital.

"And you're _sure_ that you definitely don't want to marry Noel? Or maybe even Max?" Grace asks, grinning.

"Absolutely certain," Connie promises, making a mental note to check with both Noel and Max at the wedding reception that they haven't started to include Grace in their betting syndicate. "Now, if that's all of the questions, Miss Beauchamp, I believe we have a wedding to get to.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Elliott calls, running frantically through from the downstairs toilet, tie in hand. "I just couldn't…I'm sorry…the _water_ , it's so much better than in the Middle East."

"Elliott," Connie says firmly, rolling her eyes. It shouldn't be surprising that the person calming down everyone else on her wedding day is the person, theoretically, who should be the least calm. "It's fine. Let me tie your tie, and then we'll get going, shall we?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Elliott replies, beaming. "The lovely Grace has decided on the music, it's all set up in the car, so we can just go and get going!"

"Before we go," Grace interjects quickly. "Just a _final_ question about the guest list…"

"Yes, Gracie…?"

"Well, you know how you bumped my absolute favourite friend to the back of the room in favour of your stupid former work people?"

"In favour of the team who I worked with for four years and who played an active role in the way that your father proposed, rather than the person who you hate one day and love the next, and you _asked_ to be moved to the back of the room?" Connie clarifies, beginning to wonder if she should regret being so calm. Maybe if she had at least given her daughter the illusion of doubt, the conversation would have gone in a completely different direction.

"Yeah, well, anyway, _her_ …um, can she stay for the reception?"

"If she absolutely must, then yes," Connie replies. "Now, can we actually go to my wedding please?"

~x~

It's with baited breath that Connie finally exits the wedding car at St Stephen's church, the place where Sam had been baptised all those years ago, and she suddenly realises that she's actually a little nervous. Not for the prospect of spending the rest of her life with Sam – that's a given after the last five years – but for the fact that there's a room of people with their attention focused entirely on her.

Well, she thinks, Sam will be their focus, too. But it feels strange, because this isn't how she imagined life would turn out, back in med school. She thought she'd be with Michael forever, a strange power couple who turned out to hate just as much as they loved.

And then that ended, and she thought she would be alone, except for Grace. Until that, too, changed…and Sam came back into her life. A different Sam to the first time – but she was a different Connie. A Connie who was willing to work for even the prospect of a slither of happiness. A Connie who decided to try and get over her fears of commitment, to get over the impact of Michael Beauchamp on her, and get to know Sam Strachan.

"Okay, Connie?" Elliott asks gently, and Connie realises that she's frozen, half-in half-out of the car.

"Um, yes," she replies, her voice soft. "I just…really want to do this?"

Elliott laughs. "You know, you're a far different woman to the one who couldn't see anything but negatives about Sam Strachan," he reminds her, his tone taking her back to her former glory days on Darwin. Well, the days she had thought were the pinnacle of her career at the time, anyway.

Now, she knows different.

"I should hope so," Connie replies, laughing a little. She tightens her grip on her bouquet as she approaches the church, her heart growing with apprehension as she thinks of the last time that she saw Sam's face, and just how much she wants to see him again.

They hesitate at the church door, waiting for the music to start, before, finally, the doors open.

And she sees Sam again.

And she knows that she will love him until her final breath and beyond.

* * *

 **So this is it for Connie and Sam (and the rest of them) in Facing the Future.**

 **It's been an absolute honour to write this fic, and I hope that you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!**

 **As always, please leave any suggestions for future fics/oneshots in the reviews.**

 **And please leave your comments and feedback! It's always incredible to read your views, and I can't put into words how much it brightens up my day to see them!**


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